


Turning for Home

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [26]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: Picking up a few more threads than the other version, and paying closer attention to Starfleet business. Adding in some of what was missing in the old version of the series.Jean-Luc comes back to France, Beverly goes to see Tom's family, and Natalia tries to work through some difficult feelings from the past with her mother.





	1. Chapter 1

  
And I can tell by the way you're talking  
That the past isn't letting you go  
But there's only so long you can take it all on  
And then the wrong's gotta be on its own  
  
And when you're ready to leave it behind you  
You'll look back, and all that you'll see  
Is the wreckage and rust that you left in the dust  
On your way to the jubilee...  
  
And I can tell by the way you're searching  
For something you can't even name  
That you haven't been able to come to the table  
Simply glad that you came  
  
And when you feel like this try to imagine  
That we're all like frail boats on the sea  
Just scanning the night for that great guiding light  
Announcing the jubilee  
  
And I can tell by the way you're standing  
With your eyes filling with tears  
That it's habit alone keeps you turning for home  
Even though your home is right here

Where the people who love you are gathered  
Under the wise wishing tree  
May we all be considered then straight on delivered  
Down to the jubilee

Mary Chapin Carpenter, Jubilee

* * *

"Jean-Luc," called a familiar voice.

Jean-Luc Picard stood waiting in the main corridor of Starfleet Command, which had to this point been vacant. He glanced left to find that Admiral Gaines was approaching. The stocky man approached at a leisurely pace, holding out a hand, which Jean-Luc shook. "Admiral. Good morning."

"I'd heard the _Enterprise_ was at McKinley -- welcome home. Here for a debriefing?" Gaines regarded him with a measured smile that suggested he was less than happy.

"Yes, my first officer and I are on our way to meet with the fleet admiral. I understand you're retiring soon? Unless that's just a rumor?"

"No, I'll be returning to civilian life within two months. I have a few things to resolve before then." Gaines glanced around. "Where is Commander Data?"

"He transferred. I believe he is aboard the _Venture_ at the moment, preparing it for launch." 

That resulted in a shift of demeanor -- now Gaines leaned back slightly, almost narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "I see. Then you have a new officer."

The door to the right opened, and Deanna came out of the ladies' washroom. She took in the scene, turned a polite smile on the admiral despite being able to sense well enough what Gaines was feeling. "Good morning, Admiral Gaines."

Gaines took in the changes -- instead of the blue shirt she wore red, and had her hair pulled back into braids on the back of her head, instead of merely clipped back. "Good morning, Commander."

Deanna turned to Jean-Luc expectantly. He nodded curtly. "If you will excuse us? The fleet admiral is waiting."

"By all means." Gaines waved them by, stepping to the left and around them as they started walking. 

Deanna walked alongside, keeping at least two feet of air space between them. She had lost the good mood she'd had before the admiral's arrival. He didn't know what to say, thought he should say something, but they reached Nechayev's office at the end of the corridor and it was too late. The admiral's assistant was in the outer office, a lavishly-decorated space twice the size of the ready room on the _Enterprise_. When the lieutenant-commander sent them in, the admiral was standing in front of her desk, a tight little smile in place, watching them approach.

"Good morning," she said, as they came to attention the requisite arm's length from her. She gestured toward the broad windows, in front of which a small sectional sofa sat. The admiral preferred her office decorated in greens, ranging from dark forest to a pale seafoam, and there was a tall black vase full of lilies on the coffee table. "Please have a seat." When they were all seated on the sofa, the two of them on one end facing the admiral as she sat on the other, she folded her hands in her lap. "So you have made the transition -- I received the confirmation. Congratulations on the promotion, Commander."

"Thank you," Deanna said, smiling once more, though a pale imitation of her usual.

Nechayev looked a bit bemused. "The last time I saw you, both of you were much happier. And you are about to be on leave for four weeks -- no one has opposed your arrangement. So this seems odd, to me."

"We've been very busy wrapping up crew reassignments, leave schedules, and the final arrangements that needed to be done before the refit. And I had to terminate fifteen counseling clients, transferring them to the other counselors aboard," Deanna said. "It's one of the more difficult aspects of the transition."

"We also ran into Gaines, in the corridor just now," Jean-Luc said. He'd previously discussed the incident on Rigel with her.

"Oh yes. One of the vocal ones," she said with a chagrined roll of the eyes. "There have been a variety of responses, of course. One or two who are actually of the opinion that a married couple is a good choice, for command of a starship. If both parties are sufficiently mature and work together well as a team. After everything that has transpired, I agree with this. The missions since your relationship started have all impressed me -- particularly the foray into intelligence work. I look forward to good things from the two of you. And your willingness to take on more cadets has been noticed. Has there been any further contact with fleeing Cenophytes?"

"No." Deanna had commented once in a while that she had heard from the intelligent plantlike aliens, as they had no difficulty communicating with her across the vastness of space. She knew that two other groups had joined the first, but the admiral knew about those already as Deanna made regular reports when something significant had been communicated to her.

"Commander Data's transfer surprised me," Nechayev said. "He seemed to be loyal to you."

Jean-Luc sighed. "He feels that the move will be educational. I agree -- Glendenning does appear to have a different approach."

At the mention of Tom, an expression he didn't catch flitted across Nechayev's face. Deanna didn't react visibly, but they were closely connected, so he caught her thought. _She doesn't approve of Tom. I don't think it's a professional conflict, either._

An interesting thought. But there was no opportunity for discussion.

"We had originally wanted Talbot for the _Venture_. She opted out. Mustered out, completely, in fact. Which is disheartening." Nechayev eyed him critically. 

"You've asked before and the answer is the same. I have no desire to promote or retire at this time," he said.

That made her smile again. "I appreciate that, Jean-Luc. So -- after your refit, we will be sending the _Enterprise_ out in response to reports of movement along Klingon borders. Our diplomatic contacts within the Empire have forwarded information that leads us to believe that Beta Quadrant species from sectors beyond the Romulan Empire and the Klingon Empire have been making incursions into Klingon space. There have been conflicts and the Klingons have increased patrols. Since they do not do diplomacy well, they have requested your assistance."

"The Klingons do not ask for help," Deanna said. She gave Jean-Luc a look. "The captain has a good relationship with them, I can see why they would want him. Have they given us any information about these incursions? Which species is responsible for them?"

"Evidently there are several. They do not have names for any of them, but there is sensor data -- some information about the vessels and weapons. Surprisingly, they did attempt to contact them, but the aliens opened fire without a word." Nechayev glanced back and forth between them. "I wonder if the Cenophytes might have information about them."

"I could query, but it would be useless until I have more information. They do not think in words," Deanna reminded her. It was obviously difficult for the admiral to understand how hard it had been to communicate with them, despite all the effort expended trying to relay that to her.

"Will we be working with the Klingon fleet?" Jean-Luc hadn't had contact with Martok, the current Chancellor, but Worf had spoken at length about the current political climate on Qo'Nos when he'd attended the wedding. There were always rumblings and squabbles between Klingon houses, but the Dominion War had decimated their fleet just as it had Starfleet. While they usually handled their own borders, Jean-Luc understood why they might request the help.

"Ambassador Worf informed us that the _Rotarran_ will be patrolling the area. Perhaps they will be best able to assist." Nechayev paused, and Jean-Luc knew that the change of topic was coming. When she spoke, it was with the deliberate sort of calm one used with touchy subjects. "I would like to know how you will be handling the matter of command. Whether you foresee any issues, sending your wife on away teams."

Jean-Luc sighed, thinking about the likelihood that Nechayev had been fending off criticism on their behalf. "I don't intend to do anything that we have not already been doing, Admiral."

Deanna sat silently, dividing her attention between the two of them. Her demeanor had changed; the soft, relaxed counselor had been replaced by the more intense and thoughtful first officer. 

"You do not believe it will change how you feel about it?"

"I didn't say that. I said it won't change what we do. I appreciate your concern, Admiral, and your support. I know that it is an unusual circumstance and thus subject to commentary and conjecture."

Nechayev studied him with her blue eyes. A fleeting smile came and went. "You and I have not always seen eye to eye, Jean-Luc. But I believe that at this time, we are aligned in wanting to see Starfleet become what it was before the war. And I know that you have always done your utmost to follow your principles, do your duty, and follow orders. As long as this continues we will work together well. You are able to choose your first officer without open criticism largely due to your solid reputation and long history of service, your dedication to the Federation and its preservation, but I feel that I need to warn you that you are being watched."

"Which will not alter anything," he replied, frowning. 

Nechayev spent a long moment in thought. He could tell that she was concerned. Instead of watching her think, he turned to Deanna, sitting on his left. She was looking at him, so their eyes met. 

"You are determined," Nechayev said quietly.

Jean-Luc tore himself from being lost in his wife's eyes, to gaze placidly at the admiral. "What should I say to convince you?"

"Nothing, Captain. I shall have to trust that you know the consequences of your actions, whatever they will be, and are willing to embrace them."

"We're aware, Admiral."

"Then I will wish you well, and forward you the reports from the Klingons, so you will be ready to deploy when your refit is complete. Have a relaxing vacation." Nechayev waved toward the door as she stood up.

In the corridor, Jean-Luc glanced up and down, and set out at a brisk pace for the exit. Deanna paced him and they marched to the turbo lift, rode to the ground floor, and out into the vast public foyer. He veered slightly left upon sighting a tour group at one side of the area and headed straight for the exit. 

"What next?" Deanna asked as they cleared the door. The pavement outside was less populated than the foyer. The afternoon sun put a sparkle in the water of the fountain at the middle of the square. 

Jean-Luc glanced at her with a glint in his eye and a smirk, and made a right turn -- headed for the shortest path off the Starfleet Command campus. "I could use a walk, couldn't you?"

San Francisco was not his favorite city. Within two blocks he found a café that wasn't busy, and sat down with her at a small table outside on a patio. A young man came out to give them menus. He didn't bat an eye at seeing them there.

"Have you decided what we're doing with our time off?" Deanna asked as the man went inside. They were the only ones on the patio, though there were six small tables.

"I didn't realize it was my decision to make."

Deanna glanced around again. "This is Earth. My time here was dedicated to activities other than sightseeing. I have to rely on your judgement."

He smiled at her, appreciating her in the new version of the uniform. "I'll take you home first, then."


	2. Chapter 2

Beverly closed the drawer and opened the next one, turned to get more of her things out of the case. The new quarters aboard the _Venture_ were organized differently than the ones she'd had aboard the _Enterprise_. She put her jewelry in the dressing table and put her assortment of hair care items in the other side of the drawer. 

It was never more clear that Starfleet was a different lifestyle than when she moved into new quarters. She thought about all the things Nana had accumulated, in her little house on Caldos -- all the time that she'd spent putting it all away, giving it away, choosing a select few items to keep for herself. She stared at one of the necklaces in the drawer, picked it up, and let it dangle -- the angel pendant spun on the silver chain for a few minutes.

The annunciator went off. "Come in," she said, turning to leave the bedroom, the necklace crumpled in her palm.

Tom came in -- as their eyes met he grinned. "Came to see how you're settling in."

"Doing fine. A little sentimental, maybe." She smiled sadly and looked down at the necklace. "I was just putting away a few things."

He gazed down at the pendant. "You make up your mind where you want to go?"

"I think something in the right time zone so we're hungry enough to eat something good for dinner? How about Brazil?"

Tom nodded and glanced around at her bare living room. She thought he might be avoiding her eyes.

"Tom."

That got him to look at her. "Sugar buns?"

She smiled, but resisted laughter. He was too good at making her laugh. Usually she went along and laughed. "Maybe you should tell me what's going on, if something's wrong?"

"Naw, nothing going on. How do you like your place?" He turned in place, looking around the room. "Looks real familiar."

"You mean it looks like every other senior officer's quarters?" She paused. "We didn't really talk about living arrangements. Did we?"

He shrugged, but his eyes met hers again, at least. "We didn't."

"Data assigned me quarters without asking, too. And I wanted to talk to you before I corrected him."

"Aw," Tom exclaimed, putting his hands on his head, hunching his shoulders. "Here I thought you asked him to do it."

Beverly smiled at that. "Data is better than he used to be, but when it comes to duty you need to be explicit. He probably told the quartermaster to go with standard procedure -- assign everyone quarters by the book. I just followed the computer's directions to my quarters when I came aboard. Did you expect me to move in with you?"

Tom dropped his hands, wandered a little to the left, a little to the right, and stopped right in front of her. She thought for a minute he might just lean in and kiss her. But he simply leaned forward, his blond bangs falling over his forehead, and looked her in the eye. "I tried not to expect anything. Guess I was a little disappointed though."

Running her thumb over her ear to tuck back her hair, she nodded. "Do you think the timing is right? I mean, considering that we met at our friends' wedding a few months ago, and haven't actually lived close enough together to see each other in person since." No matter how much they talked about over subspace or did during weekly holodeck visits, she knew that the in-person contact was more critical.

"I haven't made a habit of living with or dating or whatever term you want to use for relationships with intimate partners, so I'm figuring you'll be the best judge of timing here. I can honestly say I think whatever you want to do is really the best guide. So if letting your stuff sit two doors down while you're climbing all over my bed is what you want...."

She did laugh then, at the cheesy grin and roll of his beautiful blue eyes. "Incorrigible," she exclaimed, giving him a light shove, then grabbing the front of his jacket and leaning in for the kiss he obviously wanted. She stood back and let her hands glide down to take his. "I don't really have a lot of things, honestly. So why don't we go on leave, come back, spend a week -- and if it looks like it's not a problem for either of us, I'll just pack a box and carry it down to your quarters while the quartermaster logs the change."

"I really like the way you think, Verly. And thanks for being so -- ah. I was going to say easy. Wrong connotation though."

"It's one of the things I like best about us. It hasn't always been easy for me with relationships. But I like that when things come up with us, it doesn't turn into a 'serious conversation,'" she said, miming quotation marks in the air with her fingers. "It doesn't have to be hard."

"Ah, darn, but I like it hard," he said, with the lazy grin of a man who knew how to make her smile.

"It's also nice that you make it so easy for me to tell when you're making innuendo -- seems like that's your primary language. So, where in Brazil? Or maybe we should go to that really nice place in San Francisco -- Joan of Arc?"

"The one in the Cornell -- that place on Nob Hill? Sure. I'll try anything once. Think they have any Chateau Picard?"


	3. Chapter 3

Natalia stared at the open drawer, then nudged it shut with her knee. She went to the bed and clapped the case shut. Enough. She could replicate or buy anything she was missing. The anxious dithering about what to take was ridiculous.

She headed for the door, slinging the case over a shoulder, wearing the shirt and pants she'd carefully selected for meeting her mom, at home, for the first time since graduation. That her mother had come to the wedding was different. Home was home. Mom had been anxious, and Natalia skittish, but the wedding had been enough of a distraction that they'd avoided the usual back-and-forth.

But going home now, for a few weeks -- that was different.

She wished she could make it easier for both of them.

deVin, the transporter chief, was good at his job. She materialized on the front lawn, and spent a moment staring at the house. It looked the same. The rose bush next to the front door was gone -- otherwise the brown house with the green trim and gray roof was exactly as she remembered. She started for the front door. The house computer recognized her, and so the door slid back and she was in the front hall. She wandered to the right into the living room.

"Mom?"

No answer. Maybe she'd gone out for some reason.

Natalia wandered down the hall, past the master bedroom to her own. Everything was the same, though there was a red bedspread on her bed rather than the old blue one. She dropped the case on the floor and went to the closet. Her clothes were all hanging there, but she doubted they would all fit. 

It felt like another life. She slid the closet door shut and stared in the mirror on it. Her short hair, her eyes -- was it her imagination that she looked different than the last time she'd stood here?

She decided being busy was better than moping -- something Counselor Troi had said, that busy was the refuge of the traumatized. She went out to the kitchen, where her mother did whatever she did. Cooking, with all the ingredients collected there, waiting in stasis for use. 

She was seated at the counter eating a bowl of soup when her mother came home. Standing up from the stool, she turned at the sound of the front door sliding aside. When her mother turned the last corner into the kitchen at the back of the house, she paused, staring, and shoved the bag she carried on the end of the counter.

"Nat," she said, holding up her arms.

Natalia stepped into the embrace and returned it, clinging for a minute, then stood back. "How are you, Mom?"

"Great, now that you're home. I went to the market -- I had to get some last minute things for the party. Everyone's coming."

"Party," Natalia echoed. She'd forgotten about it. Mom had talked about it at the wedding, throwing a party when the _Enterprise_ came to Earth for the refit, to celebrate Natalia's first assignment being the flagship.

"Oh," Mom sighed quietly. The disappointment and dismay tipped Natalia that she'd failed to be sufficiently happy about it.

"I forgot," Natalia said. She smiled, thinking about her mother being a happy hostess. She loved parties. "That's all. Everyone including Uncle Telly?"

Mom recovered quickly. "Of course. And I've invited Jean-Luc -- he and his lovely wife," she said as she turned to deal with the bag of groceries. So her back was turned when Natalia suffered the moment of shock at the thought.

"So is that tonight, or tomorrow?"

Mom turned her head, eyebrow raised. "Tomorrow afternoon. I need time to make enough food for a dozen people."

"Okay. That should be enough time for me to remember how to make a berry cobbler," she said, grinning again, hiding that anxiety that had started in her stomach.

The captain was coming. To her house. 

At least she had time to hide the collection of dolls.


	4. Chapter 4

Deanna turned from the view of San Francisco. "After the party, what about going sunset-hopping?"

Jean-Luc held the padd aside, to gaze at her from where he was reclining on the bed in their hotel room. "What?"

"Take advantage of time zone differences and public transporters to hop from one location to the next, to view sunsets within ten minutes to half an hour of the last, around the world. We could flip it the other way as well -- sunrise-hopping." She wandered back from the window to sit on the side of the bed near him. They had changed, packed civilian clothing for a week, and beamed down to find a place to stay for the night in San Francisco. Melissa Greenman's party had delayed their departure for France. 

"That sounds like it would take some preplanning," he said. 

"There are published schedules. Apparently it's fairly popular now. Select the views from the sites you want to visit, and it tells you when to start the series. You can even pre-arrange the transporter settings all at once, at the first terminal."

"I did something similar when I was a teenager. But we ended up in Rio for hours, because Corey found a bar he liked." He sat up a little more, shoulders against the pillow and headboard. "I think that would be a good way to start -- you might find a place you like along the way, enough to want to stay for a day. And it would be easy to linger for a meal then take off on a different schedule, on a different itinerary."

Deanna leaned closer, her hair falling around her face. "That sounds lovely. I would like that."

Jean-Luc tossed the padd away into the covers and reached for her curls, wrapping them around his fingers and letting them run through her hair. "Are you letting your hair grow?"

"I had it trimmed, actually. Are you wanting my hair to grow?" He hadn't articulated an opinion about her hair, though she knew her loss of it after Galisi had had an emotional impact on him. 

"I'm sure I will like it any way you wish to wear it."

Deanna sighed, leaning ever closer, until her lips brushed his. She sat up and pulled her hair back from her shoulders, shaking it free down her back. "Practicality would suggest that I keep it short and easy to maintain, given the fact that the first officer is on the bridge all the time, any time of day or night."

"But is short hair what you want?"

"Are you trying to assert a preference without telling me you have one? I've asked you to tell me what you want."

He sighed, waved her closer. "If you are so set on what I want why are you sitting so far away?"

Deanna smiled at that and closed the gap of a few inches between them, coming forward to lay chest to chest with him within the circle of his arm. His skin against hers was warm and, because they were already so emotionally connected, it was easy to slide back into _hajira_ and float for a while with him. She enjoyed his fingers in her hair; he often played with it when they were relaxing in bed this way. 

"You like my hair long, I need fast and easy. Perhaps I simply need a hairdresser to put it up for me."

"Hmmm." 

They had a few more hours until they had to start getting ready for the party, so she let herself doze with him. She enjoyed resting with him this way. It was almost as good as meditating. It felt as though she started to drift away, so his question when it came startled her to the point of physically flinching. 

"Has it happened yet?"

Deanna draped a leg over his and raised her head, pushing herself up on her elbow to look at him. He smiled, gazing at her with lazy eyes -- something she had never seen him do, until they started sleeping together. 

"Not that I am aware -- are you sure you want it to? Beverly pointed out, and she is not wrong, that the timing might make the pregnancy more stressful than it has to be."

"Do you want to wait?"

She was so happy that his flicker of anxiety didn't even have an impact. "Not at all."

His fingertips caressed her shoulder. The touch lured her back down into his arm, and he put it around her again as she resettled. "It's been two months."

"Some couples try for a year, some it only takes weeks. Unless you want to force the matter it happens in its own time. You know that." He also knew that it could happen, since she'd verified it with the doctor.

He sighed heavily. While he thought about it, she closed her eyes again.

"So much for sight-seeing?"

"Tomorrow. This is very nice, not having anywhere to go or anyone waiting for us. Relax, Jean-Fish."

"As you wish."


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm not sure I should go to this," Wes said.

Beverly tucked her arm through her son's and walked between him and Tom down the street. They were almost there. San Francisco hillsides covered with housing all around, blue sky above -- Earth wasn't Beverly's home in the same way Tom could claim it, but there were ties here, and she was at ease. 

"Your counselor said you should get out and enjoy -- what's wrong with meeting some of your father's old friends?"  
she said lightly.

"Mom...."

"Got to learn when to go with the flow, kid," Tom said. 

Wes shot a look at Tom. The two of them were friendly, but Wes had changed while he was away on the _Enterprise_. He seemed more thoughtful and calm.

They turned up the walk to the door, which was wide open. It was an ordinary home, modern, the interior decorated in a bronze and red color scheme with grace notes of green. The kind of home Beverly had never lived in. Wide hallway, open layout, and Beverly looked into the living room on the right, to find their hostess carrying a dish in each hand, walking out some broad patio doors standing open. Melissa glanced back over her shoulder and called out, "Come on through to the back yard."

Beverly followed her. "Anything I can do to help?" She stepped through and watched Melissa put the dishes on a table beneath the awning on the patio.

Melissa turned, smiling, her wide hazel eyes happy. She held out her arms. "Not at all. Welcome to my home." The friendly embrace was brief, and she turned to the men. "Obviously this is Wesley -- you look like your father. And who would this be?"

"Captain Tom Glendenning," Beverly said, turning to Tom with a fond smile. "You might remember him from the wedding?"

"Oh - yes, one of Jean-Luc's friends," she said. "They're down with the others near the fence. We have the chairs and tables set up there, under the trees in the shade. Feel free to come in to use the bathroom or the kitchen, anything you need." She turned, the skirt of the pale pink dress flowing around her legs nicely, and set off for the other side of the yard, down a slight incline. 

Beverly glanced at her companions and followed their hostess. It was as Mel said -- Jean-Luc sat in the shade, with Deanna at his side, and three others were there with them. They stood together as Jean-Luc noticed their approach. "Beverly," he said, taking a step forward -- surprising her by touching her arm and leaning in to kiss her cheek. Deanna smiled with twice her usual warmth, her eyes lit up with happiness; it was as it had been at the wedding. She wore a varicolored dress in shades of blue, and had her hair swept back in combs, but otherwise loose and almost shoulder-length again. 

"Hey," Tom said, acknowledging Jean-Luc as the two captains met and shook hands firmly. Tom held out an arm, turning toward Deanna, and she stepped closer to lean and hug him. 

Beverly glanced at Wes, to find her son staring in surprise. But Deanna moved on to give him a brief one-armed hug as well, shaking him out of it a little.

"Come sit down. This is Telemachus Finch," she said, turning to hold out a hand, indicating an elderly man seated in front of the oak tree. "His son, Sam, and his granddaughter Sarah. This is Beverly Crusher, her son Wesley, and Captain Tom Glendenning."

The very pretty young woman seated next to the middle-aged blond man smiled at Wesley, and Beverly thought there was a spark -- she turned to Tom, who returned to her side, touching her back lightly. "Do you want something to drink?" She gestured at the tables on the patio. There had been a bar. 

"I'll get you a glass of wine or beer," Melissa said.

"Beer," Tom said.

"For two. Thank you, Mel." Beverly smiled at their hostess, and as Melissa went up to the house they all sat down in the ring of chairs; Wes went across to sit next to Sarah. Beverly sat between Deanna and Tom. She gave Deanna a look. 

"No," Deanna said quietly, answering the unspoken question of whether she was pregnant. They'd talked about that several times, over subspace. "Not yet."

Mel returned with three glasses of beer, interrupting Beverly's attempt to make a response, and the elderly man started up the usual conversation between civilian and Starfleet -- questions about living on ships, about missions. A reminder of what a different life it had been for Beverly. It was difficult to listen to Melissa chat with Sarah, in the little tangents they took about mundane concerns of life on Earth. 

A young woman arrived during the discussion of life without a kitchen -- Sam was waxing poetic about his wife's samosas -- and Beverly noticed both Jean-Luc and Deanna looked up at her with a smile, as she arrived with a large tray covered with a tea service. It took a moment for Beverly to remember the girl from the wedding -- Melissa's daughter, Natalia, who'd been drafted into service as a bridesmaid. Mel brought one of the small tables out to the center of the ring of chairs to let the girl put the tray down. 

"Thank you, Ensign," Jean-Luc said as the first cup of tea was brought to him. 

Natalia turned and poured another cup, and added cream and sugar, with everyone watching her. This cup was passed to Deanna, who thanked her as well. Telemachus chortled as he accepted the third cup. "Bergamot," he exclaimed.

"Of course. It's Earl Grey," Natalia said as she prepared another cup. "Would anyone else like some?"

"Pass me a cup, a little more cream than that please," Melissa said as she sat down again. 

"So how is our little gnat doing on her first tour of duty?" Telemachus asked. The old man's eyes were laughing, as they followed Natalia's delivery of a cup to her mother and return to make a last cup for herself. 

Beverly looked to Jean-Luc. He had one of his subtly disapproving expressions, with just the hint of a smile. "Natalia is doing very well."

"Nat's always been about the stars," Sarah said. A fond smile for the younger woman. Beverly wondered why Natalia seemed nervous; she sat down between Tom and Melissa with her cup in her hands, crossed her legs, and seemed to be avoiding a fidget by tensing up.

"I wondered though -- for a while it was animals, wasn't it?" Sam asked, grinning lazily at Natalia. "Veterinarian or zookeeper?"

Natalia shrugged awkwardly. She wore a white short-sleeved dress of a style that did not suit her. The squared shoulders combined with the loose fit made her look too thin. 

"How did you know Jack?" Beverly asked, looking directly across at Telemachus. "I know I've heard your name before."

"I taught at the Academy. Advanced math," Telemachus said. 

"Oh. Jack must have had a tough time in your class," Beverly said with a grin. 

"I had a hard time in his class," Sam said, nudging his father with his elbow. "Among others. I decided to be a pilot, but in the commercial realm. I fly shuttles to McKinley, several days a week."

Tom asked, "So what are you up to, Sarah? Are you a pilot too?"

Sarah laughed at the suggestion, glanced at Wesley, and then at her father. "No. I'm teaching preschoolers." She tossed back her very-straight cornflower-colored hair, a smile bending her pink lips in a bow, and looked at Wes again. 

"That's great. I used to be a preschooler," Tom announced with that stupid grin he used often, to distract and disarm. "Sometimes I'm still mistaken for one."

Melissa laughed, as did Sarah; Sam smirked but was less amused. Telemachus watched the younger members of his family with an indulgent smile. Wes surprised Beverly by asking, "How long have you been teaching?"

"Four years," Sarah said. 

While Wes questioned further Beverly stood up and went to the house, found the bathroom down the hall from the living room, and took her time -- after washing her hands and checking her face and hair in the mirror she left the bathroom and headed down the hall. She slowed, looking at framed pictures on the walls. There were a number of older ones and in one group shot she saw some familiar faces. 

She was still looking at the pictures when Deanna came down the hall. She looked at the picture Beverly was eyeing -- an image of Walker Keel standing with his sister and elderly father, from a time when he still had three pips and all his hair -- and then at Beverly. 

"Tom is concerned that you disappeared," Deanna said. "I'm looking for a break as you are. Telemachus asked me what I do, which led to a short conversation about transitioning from counselor to first officer, which surprised Melissa. I'm hoping that Jean-Luc will want to leave soon."

"I'm wondering if your ensign wouldn't mind escaping as well."

"Is this the way parties on Earth are? It isn't what I expected," Deanna said.

"Parties where folks don't know each other well enough to relax and dance, maybe. Mel invited old friends, not necessarily ones she's had recent contact with. Things might loosen up with time, as more people arrive and get to know each other. I'm surprised the two of you came at all. He never seemed too interested in socializing at parties unless it was something he did in the line of duty."

"We'll probably leave by sunset. We have a loose plan, to hop from sunset to sunset, until we find a nice place to get a room for the night."

"And work on procreation, of course."

Deanna rolled her eyes. "And you and Tom?"

"Tom has a room for us at the Hilton. Wes said he's going to do something with Geordi, but now that he's seen Sarah, I have to wonder if that will still be happening," Beverly said with a grin. 

Deanna studied the pictures in front of them on the wall. "The Greenmans looked like a happy family."

"I'm sure they were. Walker was a good man. He and Jack were close. I didn't know Melissa so well, but she was in college, training to be a nurse. I have to wonder why Natalia is so anxious -- she seemed all right at the wedding."

No response, and Deanna turned as if hearing something -- and Beverly heard footfalls on the tile floor, then Natalia came out of the living room and approached. "Everything all right?" she asked.

"We were looking at some of these pictures." Deanna tapped the one of Melissa and a young man. "You resemble your father."

Natalia stared at the image. "Yeah."

"I'm getting the impression you aren't really too excited to be home. Is everything all right?" Deanna asked softly.

"You mean you can sense how upset I am," she said. "Yeah. I was fine with being home. I'm not fine with Sarah being here, she's the one person my mother compares me to, whether she admits it or not. Somehow even when she encourages me or congratulates me, she always brings Sarah into the conversation."

Deanna nodded slowly as Natalia spoke. "You've mentioned your mother's desire for you to find something other than Starfleet."

"It's not that she does it directly, and it's not that Sarah herself bothers me. It's not her fault she's perfect."

"That would be an insecurity speaking, no doubt," Deanna said with a fond smile. "She's definitely not perfect."

"Depends on who you ask. Pretty sure Wesley thinks she is." Natalia grimaced and rolled her eyes comically.

"Maybe you should go out on the town, Natalia," Beverly said.

The ensign gaped for a few seconds. "But, my mom."

Beverly crossed her arms. "Speaking as a mother of a former ensign -- one of the things about this parenting business, we parents sometimes want to see the kid doing their own thing. If you decide you would rather go out with a friend, rather than stick around the gathering of the old family members, that would be developmentally appropriate. You can visit the family members later. You have a nice long leave. It might be traumatic for her in the short term if you leave early, but it won't get you ostracized, will it?"

It made her think, and then she smiled. "You're right."

"I'm sure you remember my own mother -- we were much more at odds than you are with your mother, when I was your age," Deanna said. "It is of course true that you know your mother better than I, and it's entirely your decision to make how you handle the situation, but you have more options than sitting quietly."

"I do, but sometimes you just let mom do what she does." Natalia surveyed the pictures on the wall with pursed lips. "You know, I did hear there's a party down at Occalo's Bar. Maybe I'll go down there for a bit. Some of my old friends will be there."

"If they aren't going to talk about anything more interesting than recipes, I might join you," Beverly said. 

When they returned to the circle of chairs at the bottom of the yard, everyone looked up at them with smiles. "We were looking at the picture gallery in the hall," Beverly said, returning to her chair. Tom welcomed her back by taking her hand.

"The Museum of Greenman," Melissa commented with a smile. She watched her daughter return to her chair, but stand over it instead of sitting.

"I just heard some of my friends are down at Occalo's," Natalia said casually. "Mind if I go down to say hi? I'll be back by dinner."

Beverly took her half-consumed beer back from the ground at her feet, straightened and sipped the ale, watching Natalia bear her mother's disapproving look. Melissa wasn't happy with it. But she said, "If you want."

"See you in a bit," Natalia said, scanning the faces of the guests and smiling before she turned and went back up to the house. 

"What's Occalo's?" Wes asked. 

Sarah smiled at him. Oh, she was all sunshine and smiles - golden hair, a sparkle in her eyes. "It's a pub a couple blocks down. Want to check it out?"

"Sure," Wes exclaimed.

And so they got up and left, everyone watching them go -- after they vanished into the house, Telemachus started to chuckle and shake his head. 

"That was an unexpected," Sam said.

"Kids," Tom said, raising his glass to polish off what was left of the beer. He leaned and put the empty glass on the grass. He turned to Jean-Luc. "Want to come for a tour of my new ship?"

"You mean the one that's more or less the same as ours?" Deanna asked, with the amused grin Beverly often had when talking to Tom.

"But it's new," Tom exclaimed. "Brand spanking. New carpet smell and all. Without the endless trampling of hundreds of red alerts to make the upholstery and the floors dingy."

"I'd like a tour," Telemachus said. "Sam wants to come too."

"Absolutely," Sam exclaimed. "I've never been on a starship."

"Tomorrow morning?" Beverly said. Then she noticed Melissa looking at the ground, apparently not paying attention to conversation. "Mel?"

"I'm just -- " Melissa gestured with a hand vaguely. "I wish my daughter enjoyed being home."

Beverly glanced at Deanna. A familiar sentiment, for both of them -- Lwaxana had been known to complain this way, and Beverly had wished Wes spent more time with her before. "I'm not sure that she doesn't," Beverly said, turning back to their hostess. "She just wanted to see her friends."

Sam had a wary expression that said he knew better. But he said, "I know it's a different world in Starfleet. I've watched friends go through the transition of having kids head off to the Academy and come back a different person."

"It changes you to go through the Academy. It's intense, because Starfleet is intense," Tom said. 

Deanna paid a little too much attention to the empty tea cup in her hands. Jean-Luc was watching her with a little more concern than it warranted, Beverly noticed. She made an internal note to herself to ask how the transition was going. She'd wondered if Deanna would really want first officer.

"Years of watching cadets put themselves through it, and I agree," Telemachus said. "But I think it isn't Starfleet, Mel. You know that it's been difficult with Nat since before she left Earth."

Mel looked around as if trying to find an escape route. Her frown said she was upset. "So it's my fault."

"Not at all. Blaming yourself doesn't help," the old man said. "And you know it's difficult to see them grow up and become their adult selves. This is not an unusual problem -- Sam and I mended fences, after all." Telemachus reached over to bump his son's shoulder with a fist. Sam returned the gesture with a fond smile.

"Melissa, I think you should ask Natalia for a tour of the _Enterprise_ ," Beverly said. "If there was one thing I could count on when I wanted Wesley's attention, it was asking about what he was working on -- he was obsessed with the ship. And he had dreams at that age."

That seemed to get her to think about it without as much angst. "Do you think she would take me?"

Beverly turned to Deanna and Jean-Luc. Deanna had lost the introspective look. "She would," Deanna said. "And I think you would enjoy the tour. May I go make some more tea?"

"Oh -- I'll get it for you," Melissa exclaimed, rising and snatching up the tea tray that Natalia had left out. She hurried for the house.

"The never ending struggle between mother and daughter," Sam commented. "Sarah and her mother went through a similar emotional wrestling match."

"Mothers and daughters often do," Beverly said. She remembered having a few arguments with Nana, a long time ago.

"Do you have children?" Telemachus asked, turning to Jean-Luc.

A pause, fraught with tension. "No," he said. Beverly wondered if the old man noticed Jean-Luc's discomfort. He was good about hiding it, usually, but obviously the subject of children was currently an anxiety-provoking one. If there was one thing being a ship's doctor had taught her, it was that couples who were attempting parenthood could be the most anxious patients of all. In this couple's case, she guessed that of the two, Jean-Luc would be the more jittery and uncertain.

"I had four. Sam is the one who pays attention to me. We see the others on holidays, some years." Telemachus looked up -- Melissa was exiting the house, the tea tray in her hands. "Mel and Nat are my surrogate daughters."

"Do you have kids, Deanna?" Sam asked. 

A peculiar expression flitted across her face. "A son, some years ago. He died a few days after he was born."

Silence -- hardly anyone lost a child that way any more, and it was a shock to hear. "I'm sorry," Sam said at last, genuinely chagrined.

Deanna forced a smile. "It was a long time ago."

"Here we go," Melissa said, as she brought the tray to the small table and put it down. "Would you like some Earl Grey? I also have chamomile and jasmine tea."

"I would love a cup of jasmine," Beverly said. 

"So what do we want to do until the rest of the guests arrive? I'm starting to wonder if any of them are actually coming," Melissa said as she poured tea in a cup. 

"Charades?" Tom asked.

"We should have asked Tom to bring his guitar," Deanna said. "He played at our wedding. He's very good."

Melissa smiled, with genuine happiness that was a relief to see. "That's right. You know, I think we have a guitar -- I'll be right back."

While she was off to the house again, Tom smirked at Beverly. "It's a good thing my fingers had time to heal up."


	6. Chapter 6

Natalia left Occalo's not long after arriving, and walked off down the street. After some aimless wandering, she came to the conclusion that it was time to go home. There had been a few people she knew in the bar, but not so many who she wanted to actually talk to, and she tired of surface chatter.

The neighborhood was a quiet one, always had been. She waved at Mr. Tomlinson, the older gentleman who always seemed to be in his yard working on the flower beds. The next house was Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson's, and the one next to the Greenman residence, the McAllisters. And then she was home again. She stood on the sidewalk and stared at the house, so much like all the other houses on the block. 

The captain came out the front door. He wore a white shirt, a dark green vest, dark brown pants, and boots that might have been standard issue. He smiled at her as he came down the walk. "We're just heading out -- I'm glad we can say good-bye. We'll see you in a couple of weeks." He stopped in front of her, inclining his head slightly and losing the smile. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. 

Deanna came out then, striding down to them and stopping at the captain's side. She had a sympathetic expression, concern in her eyes. "Natalia?"

"Wes and Sarah are still at the bar. I got bored and took a walk. I can't figure it out -- I don't even know what Mom wants me to do any more. What she wants me to say. I don't know how to fix it, because I don't even know what's wrong. Why she's so stressed out by my being home."

Deanna nodded slowly. That had been a frequent discussion in sessions, which they wouldn't be doing any more now that she was first officer. "Maybe after the party is over you should ask her."

"I guess. Thanks for everything, Commander. I wish I could keep coming for appointments with you."

"I know it's difficult to start over with someone else, but I also think that will be a good thing for you. But, you can worry about that later. You should take some time off and enjoy your leave. We have a lot to do when we return."

"I wish I had somewhere else to go," Natalia said. "Someone to go there with too."

"You could stop in at the vineyard, if you go touristing in France," the captain said. "After we spend a little time traveling we'll be there for the last seven days of leave."

It stole away her rational thought for a few minutes. "Thank you," she said at last. "I wouldn't want to be an imposition."

He waved away the words, scowling a little. "Not at all. We have wine to sell, after all."

"You can come have a cup of tea with us," Deanna said. 

Natalia couldn't help smiling with her. The commander was a beautiful woman, and for a long time Natalia had wished she could be half so pretty. But all the wishing in the world changed nothing, and accepting that along with other aspects of her life had helped with her general level of anxiety. "I'd like that. I hope you have a relaxing vacation, sirs."

Unexpectedly, Deanna stepped toward her and gave her a brief hug. "We'll see you soon."

Natalia walked up to the front door as they went down the block hand in hand. Inside, the living room was still empty, and she heard laughter coming in from the back yard. She was on the verge of going out there when she heard footfalls on the patio, and then Sam was in the door, hesitating as he saw her.

"I see Sarah didn't come back with you," he said. "Guess she's having a good time with Wesley?"

"Yeah, they were dancing when I left. It's quite a party down there. I wasn't feeling like dancing so I came back to help get ready for dinner. I guess the captain didn't want to stay?"

"They said they had a reservation downtown." Sam approached her, dodging around the end of the sofa. "I know it's hard, being home after all this time. You haven't had a chance to really talk to her yet?"

"I don't even know what to say. I don't understand why she's so tense."

Sam's fond, sad smile said he understood. The Finches were family. Sam had been her father's good friend since before she was born. He'd been there for them when Natalia's father died. "She's had a lot on her mind since you left. It's tough when your kid leaves home."

"But -- "

Her mother appeared in the open door behind Sam, interrupting her. Melissa Greenman smiled, bringing in a dish and two empty glasses, heading through toward the kitchen to the right of the door. Natalia went after her, giving Sam a knowing look.

"Hey, need any help?" she asked, hoping and mostly achieving nonchalance.

"You could take Mrs. Nozawa a glass of wine?" Mom put the dishes on the counter and turned to the overhead cupboard, reaching into it for glasses.

"Sure." Natalia went to get the glass, and before she headed out to the patio for the wine, turned to her mother and waited until she was noticed. "Do you have anything planned for tomorrow?"

"Not really, other than cleaning up after the party, if there's anything left to do. Why?"

"I just was thinking it would be nice if we had some time to go down to Felton." It had always been one of her mother's favorite things to do -- go down the coast to a small town in the redwoods in the Santa Cruz Mountains. There were trails among the trees and in spring there were wildflowers blooming. Natalia had never particularly enjoyed the experience but her mother had. 

Her mother blinked, clearly startled, and stared at her with an odd expression. She shook it off, reaching for four of the tumblers. "Let's see how we feel in the morning. Did Sarah and Wesley come back?"

"No, they're dancing. They seem to really like each other." Natalia took two wine glasses, cast a glance at Sam, who still stood in the living room, and smiled. She followed her mother, heading for the bar on the patio.

At least the irritation she'd expected hadn't materialized. Her side trip to Occalo's hadn't made things worse. 

"I think it'll be fine," Sam murmured, as he followed her outside.


	7. Chapter 7

The transporter effect faded, leaving them standing outside the main house on the lawn. It was the Picard estate as it had been on the holodeck, where he'd taken her for the past year now and again. But the flowers had been neglected; the shrubs around the perimeter of the house were overgrown slightly. Jean-Luc turned to his wife expectantly, to find her staring at the two-story brick house.

"Cygne?"

"I'm fine," she said flatly, and he knew by that that she was not. Something had shaken her. In Madrid, from which they had transported in, she had been fine. Smiling, at ease, enjoying herself, chatting with him about the basilica they toured that morning, after a night spent in a hotel. Yesterday they had taken a tour of the _Museo Nacional del Prado_.

He led the way to the front door, contemplated knocking -- but it was his home. He depressed the latch and pushed, and the heavy wooden door swung open. He stepped through into the cool of the front hall, the sound of his boots on the tile echoing.

"Marie?"

No response. His brother's widow had said she would be sure the house was ready for them, and hoped to spend time with them while they were there, but she didn't seem to be there just yet. Jean-Luc headed down the hall for the staircase. Deanna followed him silently. The bond, which had been active and tangible most of the time while they were traveling, was quiet. 

He entered the master suite, let the bag he was carrying over a shoulder drop to the floor, and looked around. Marie had said she'd redecorated the bedrooms in the past year, in anticipation of his return home, and retained some of the older traditional style but in new fabrics and colors. 

"This is different," Deanna said, putting her own bag in a chair next to the door. "I like the colors. Marie has good taste."

"Green and bronze is an interesting variation. It used to be earth tones. Shall we go have some tea?"

"Yes," she said, wilting a little. 

"Are you upset about something? Is being here difficult?"

A brittle smile, at that. "It's harder than I expected, yes. The last time I was here, I was with your mother."

"Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow slightly. He'd managed to forget that she had seen his mother in her final moments, not so long ago, thanks to Q and his occasional meddling in their lives. He considered for a moment. "We can go to Paris, if you don't -- "

"No," she exclaimed, crossing to the center of the room to him. She wore one of the simple dresses she had brought along, this one sleeveless. "I want to be here. I'm fine."

A soft beeping sound interrupted; she turned back, opened her bag, and picked up the tricorder. 

"What is it?" Had it turned itself on by accident? Improbable, given the design intentionally prevented accidental activation.

"You're going to think I'm silly," she confessed, glancing at him with a roll of her eyes. "I left it scanning for changes in my hormones -- detecting when I'm most likely to conceive."

"Silly," he echoed.

Their eyes met, and he waited for her to make the first move. She snapped the tricorder shut and dropped it in the bag, took a step -- he reached for her as she stepped into his arms. He kissed her gently, and she slipped her hands up under his shirt. 

They were pulling off clothing when the slam of a door echoed distantly through the house. Deanna stopped tugging on his pants and met his gaze, questioning.

"It must be Marie, or one of the people from the winery -- there are three working for us. I can go down and check."

"Of course. This can wait," Deanna said. "It isn't as though I wouldn't be just as fertile several hours from now, after all."

He smiled as he put his shirt back on, watching her fasten the front of her dress. They left the room together and went down the stairs. As they reached the first floor, he heard singing. "Marie," he said, turning to look at Deanna -- she was standing on the bottom stair, shocked. "Are you all right?"

"What is that song?" She stepped down and reached for his hand. 

"By the Light of the Moon -- a traditional song, usually one of the first ones French children are subjected to when learning to play an instrument. Maman used to sing it."

Deanna's hand tightened around his fingers, but she walked with him, from the hall into the dining room and beyond it to the kitchen. All the cabinetry had been upgraded; instead of the dark wood that had been in place when his parents lived there, the doors were a light oak, or perhaps a synthetic that looked like wood. Marie was humming now, as she stood at the open door of the stasis unit and rummaged inside it. She seemed just as she had the last time he'd been there, wearing a comfortable-looking black and tan pantsuit. Jean-Luc started to speak, but movement from floor level startled him. A toddler with long blond curls stood there looking up at them with wide hazel eyes.

" _Tante_ ," the child said.

Marie stood back and closed the unit, smiling brightly. "Jean-Luc! I didn't hear you come in! Welcome home," she exclaimed, coming forward and catching the child up in her arms. "This is Giselle. One of my nieces -- I'm taking care of her today. I came by to leave some groceries."

"This is Deanna," he said, half-turning and gesturing at Deanna. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Deanna said, sounding more like herself. She came closer to stand with Jean-Luc and smiled at the child. "And you as well, Giselle."

"Hi," Giselle sang out cheerfully. She returned a grin for Deanna's warm smile. 

"Gigi, go play," Marie said, putting the girl down again. She toddled off into the kitchen, and in seconds had one of the floor-level cabinets open. "I let her play with the pots," Marie said. "It keeps her busy. Come here." She embraced Jean-Luc, kissing his cheek, and he did the same. His brother's wife had stayed in contact faithfully and acted on his behalf since Robert's death. She was one of the few people he considered family.

"Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?" Deanna asked. 

Marie turned from Jean-Luc and held out her arms. "I had not planned to -- I thought you might want the house to yourselves. These days I divide my time between my sister's and here." She embraced Deanna warmly, stood back to look her in the eye. "Are you...."

Deanna glanced at Jean-Luc quizzically. He wasn't sure what Marie was questioning, either. "Am I what?"

"I shouldn't have asked. Would you care for some tea?" Marie turned and went to the stove, lighting a burner and moving a large teakettle to it.

"I don't mind if you ask questions," Deanna said. Jean-Luc moved right, to a table and chairs in a corner near a large window; informal meals and tea time with the family usually took place there, instead of in the formal dining room. Deanna followed and sat down with him. 

Marie brought the cream and sugar to the table, placing it between them. "I was only wondering if you were the same Deanna that Yvette mentioned."

"Oh," Jean-Luc blurted, his surprise drawing Marie's attention. "I wasn't aware that she'd mentioned her to you. You didn't bring it up when I was here before."

Marie's eyes softly chided him. The teakettle whistled, so she went to shut off the stove. "You were recovering, and she wasn't with you. So I assumed that she was no longer part of your life, and didn't want to cause tension by asking." She poured hot water into a white china teapot, returned the kettle to the stove, and brought the pot and three tea cups back to the table. "Would we like some biscuits?"

"Of course."

Marie paused to check on Giselle, banging away with the pots in the cabinet, and brought back a plate of sugar cookies. Deanna watched all of this, until Marie sat down with them and poured tea in the three cups. "I'm glad to see you're still together," she said, adding a little cream to hers and reaching for the sugar. "I'm a bit of a romantic I suppose."

Deanna exchanged a look with Jean-Luc. He sighed softly, wishing Q would stop pestering them -- if not for his meddling there would be no awkwardness about this. 

Marie finished stirring her tea and put the spoon on her saucer, not noticing their reaction. "Yvette told me she knew that Jean-Luc would be happy. She liked you very much."

Jean-Luc was glad that Giselle saved him from responding; a couple of pans fell to the floor, and the toddler crawled out, stood up slowly with some unsteady wavering back and forth, and toddled full speed across the dark green tiles toward them. Instead of stopping at her aunt, she went around Marie's chair and put up her hands on Jean-Luc's thigh. 

It brought up memories of Meribor, when she was a little girl. Without thinking much about it, he reached down to pick up the toddler and sit her on his knee, straightening the pink dress she wore. Marie watched him with fascination.

"She likes you," Deanna said, amused.

"Shocking -- I'm used to seeing them run in terror," he commented, smiling back at the happy baby.

"Giselle is a very happy girl," Marie said fondly. "Are you having children?"

Jean-Luc watched the happy girl prying at his fingers, as he held her in place. He let go slowly, and Giselle practically threw herself at him, wriggling around until she sat in his lap and leaned on his chest.

"She's tired. I should go put her down for a nap." 

"She's all right," Jean-Luc said, knowing what could happen -- moving her might set off a crying fit, and it was no real trouble to leave her there. He glanced at Deanna, at the tea. "If you would?"

Deanna reached for the tea. "Of course." She made him a cup of tea, so he wouldn't have to move the child.

They chatted about the house -- Marie had done a lot, keeping the house ready and living there half the time, overseeing the winery.

"What would you do if the house and the winery weren't here?" Deanna asked, after a discussion of her plans to move the piano from the office into the front living room. 

Marie leaned forward and put her cup on the saucer in front of her, and Jean-Luc smiled -- nothing like the empath's intuition to ask the right question. He'd wondered himself, in spite of Marie's protests, if continuing to tie herself to the winery was really what she wanted.

"Are you attempting to tell me that I shouldn't stay here?" Marie raised her head and eyed Deanna with an insulted expression.

"I merely want to understand what you really want. I know that both of us would prefer that you're happy, since it would be easy to find someone to manage the estate on our behalf," Deanna said. "Just as there are people managing my family's homes on Betazed on our behalf. My mother has been traveling for years, she has ten people in her employ. Of course you are welcome to stay here, there is no question of that, but I know Jean-Luc would not want you to feel obligated."

Marie smiled at that. Her expression softened another notch as her eyes dropped to Giselle, still snoozing against Jean-Luc's chest. "I will let you know when I'm tired of taking care of the house. But thank you."

Deanna stood, picked up her cup and Jean-Luc's, and headed into the kitchen. Marie watched her go, bemused. She looked at Jean-Luc with a knowing smile. "She seems very comfortable here."

"We have a holodeck. Remember, I was taking pictures when I was here. I created a simulation that we can interact with, and I've used it to introduce her to the estate."

"How old were you, when you met her?"

Jean-Luc wavered -- give in to the narrative that existed, or correct it? "It isn't what you think, Marie."

"What do you mean?"

"There were circumstances," he began awkwardly. "Deanna...." He watched Deanna return to the table, sit watching him across the table. "She wasn't here years ago. She isn't the same age as me."

Marie's brow furrowed. "Yvette said she was here, one time, when you were home from the Academy."

"I was, however, I did so by going back in time. For me it was a little more than a month ago. I wasn't at the Academy with him," Deanna said calmly. "It wasn't intentional, and I did my best not to interfere at all."

"Time travel," Marie echoed, as if uncertain she had heard correctly. "You were there speaking to her, then. As you are now."

"It's confusing, and I wish that I could explain more fully how it all came about." Deanna shrugged a little, sheepish and smiling. "I did appreciate the opportunity to meet her."

"I have to accept what you are saying, I suppose, but Yvette was so certain -- it annoyed Robert at times when she talked about you." Marie stopped talking when Giselle whimpered. "It's almost time for her next feeding. Let me take her. In fact, I'll take her down to my sister's, she'll be home and I can return without her, for dinner. I'd like to make your first meal here at the estate."

"That sounds wonderful," Deanna exclaimed. "Jean-Luc said you are a good cook."

Jean-Luc let her lift the little girl away, as Giselle started to whine and cry a little. Marie turned her and held her in her arms, bouncing her a little. "I'll see you in a little while," Marie said. 

After she was gone, the door shutting in her wake, Jean-Luc looked down at the wet spot on his shirt. He gestured at it. "I presume the majority of my wardrobe will have spit stains if everything goes according to plan. I thought a little practice couldn't hurt."

Deanna giggled at it. "I'm glad you are enjoying the company of children now."

"You know," he said, "I may need help taking this shirt off."

Her smile grew broader and turned sly. "I may be able to help you do that."


	8. Chapter 8

"Thank you, Lieutenant Kelvey," Beverly said. Then she smiled at the young man. "I hope you have at least a few days off, before the launch?"

"I'm going to Rome with a few friends," Kelvey said. The _Venture_ 's new sickbay staff were all friendly and easygoing, mostly human. Kelvey was dark haired and seemed as young as Wesley, to her. "Are you taking time off as well?" 

"Yes, indeed." Beverly looked around the circle of young men and women in uniform. "I'll see you all in two weeks, when I'm back from my vacation. Our launch is in a month -- I expect we'll have the rest of the biobeds and the carpeting, by then."

Laughter, all around. They broke up, most of them heading out of sickbay, a few lingering to chat with each other. Beverly went in her office and took one last look around. She'd have to choose decorations before taking up residence. There had to be a painting she could replicate to brighten up the dreary standard issue gray walls. The lack of carpeting anywhere was more of an irritant than she'd anticipated; even the flat, easily-sterilized standard issue provided relief from the incessant tapping of boot heels. 

She went to her quarters, took off the uniform, and contemplated what to wear. Tom had taken her to the Azores for some beach time, and wandered the streets in Naples for a while. After the whirlwind five days of going on a whim to places she hadn't been, they'd returned to the ship to check in with Data, see how the slow march toward launch was coming along, and make sure all their things had been brought aboard. 

The sound of the door opening in the living room startled her, but she settled quickly; Tom was the only one who was able to come in. And it was him -- he came into the bedroom and stopped in his tracks, grinned, raised his hands to the ceiling. "Happy birthday to me!"

Beverly laughed at him and reached in the closet. "Right."

"You're perfect. Where do you want me? Bed? Bathtub? Floor?" The warp ten flirting had taken a little time to get used to, but he didn't take it personally when she wasn't in the mood to do it back.

She pulled on the shirt, freeing her hair from the collar, and selected some blue pants. "Door."

"A challenge!" But Tom's excitement was for show -- he grinned, watched her button up the blouse and select a jacket in the same color of the pants. "Data was invited too so we're meeting him in transporter room one."

"Nice suit," she commented, as she went to her dressing table to find earrings and brush her hair.

"It was less suit-like than many other options," he replied. It was a looser fit than most, still black with the white shirt but the jacket hung open and the slacks had pockets, which Tom used to comic effect, hands stuffed in them as he bounced a little on his heels. "Think I should bring the guitar? Or just start reminding people to hire a musician for their informal soiree?"

"I'll leave that up to you."

"Haven't heard from Wesley."

She sighed, ran the brush through her hair and contemplated just tying it back. "He did say he would let us know before launch if he was interested in staying aboard. He's off exploring and I can't say that isn't what he should do, given the circumstance."

"But worrying is a mother's prerogative."

"I'm ready when you are. Me and my prerogative."

They met Data in the transporter room as predicted. When they materialized on the lawn outside the Picard estate, it was obviously late afternoon -- the fun of time zones on a planet -- and she felt momentarily dislocated. Breakfast, a staff meeting, and now dinner party. She smiled and followed Data and Tom toward the front door, setting it aside. 

Deanna let them in, welcomed them, and took them to the back yard, where a table was set beneath lanterns on poles. "It's been so nice here, we decided to eat outdoors," Deanna said. She looked great -- the green dress reminded Beverly of the early days aboard the _Enterprise_ when she wore stunning jewel tones instead of the uniform. 

"Where's Mr. Troi?" Tom asked, looking around the yard. "Nice roses!" Data followed Beverly over to the table while Tom admired the flowers.

"Jean-Luc is down in the winery talking to the vintner. He'll be here shortly. Would you like some wine?" Deanna smiled, watching Tom examine the rose bush near the door. "That's right, your family grows flowers?"

"Yep, we're going to see them tomorrow." He came to the table in the middle of the patio, offering her a blue rose. 

Deanna had a peculiar wavering smile as she took it from him. "So, white or red wine? or tea?"

"Red, I think," Beverly said.

"Is it Picard wine? I would like to try it," Data said. 

"Oh yes," she replied with a smirk. "I'll be right back." She took the rose into the house. The three of them sat down, leaving the remaining pair of chairs vacant at the round table. 

"Is this typical of homes on Earth?" Data asked. He wore casual clothing that looked a bit more rustic than theirs, in shades of brown -- Beverly wondered if it might be a costume of some kind. He kept looking around.

"I doubt it. It's bigger than most families need. I wonder how old it is," Beverly said, looking up at the second story windows. "Beautiful though."

"The captain has a large family?" Data watched a bird fly overhead and land in a tree.

"Don't think so, Data." Tom sat down next to Beverly at last. "Love the way your hair looks in the sunlight."

Unexpected compliments were Tom's forte. She smiled, embarrassed and hoping Data wasn't going to comment on her blushing. Fortunately Deanna returned with a bottle of wine and some glasses. Deanna's knowing smile didn't help much either, but she poured them wine without comment and sat down with them.

"So how is the new vessel coming along?" she asked smoothly. "Are you thinking the launch will be on time? I remember the _Enterprise_ launched a week later than anticipated."

"I believe the _Venture_ will be ready to launch on schedule," Data said. "We have finalized the crew roster. There have been no delays with the completion of the remaining work on the interior. Our engineer tells us we will be ready for a shakedown cruise on schedule."

Deanna sat with crossed legs, holding her wine glass in one hand, looking as relaxed and happy as she had at the wedding. "Do you have a destination in mind for the shakedown, Tom?"

"I dunno, maybe I'll come see what the _Enterprise_ is up to -- you guys seem to get into some interesting shenanigans." Tom grinned lazily and took another sip of wine.

"How is Wesley doing?" Deanna asked. The subject dampened her glow somewhat. "We invited him, but he declined."

"I wish I could say," Beverly replied. 

"I was afraid of that. He seemed better to me, when he left."

"Oh, no -- it's not that anything is wrong with him," Beverly exclaimed. "It's more that he seems to be preoccupied with the girl. You remember Sarah from the party at Melissa's?"

Deanna raised an eyebrow. "Really? So it wasn't just at the party?"

"Yeah, the two of them went to some other party she invited him to, and then he spent the day with her. Seems like he's spent more time with her than with the folks he said he wanted to see." Tom was looking at Beverly as he spoke, with a little more concern and less glee.

"He hasn't said much about what he did while he was with you on the _Enterprise_ , other than he did some counseling with your new counselor," Beverly said. "He said you said something that gave him better perspective. That you helped him get his head on straight."

Deanna sighed -- she had the expression that said she didn't want to reveal things she should hold in confidence. But she surprised Beverly. "He had the idea that he couldn't travel any longer, that he had somehow lost control of that aspect of himself. It struck me that it might be something he was doing unconsciously. It doesn't make any sense to me, that a person could evolve in some fashion and then lose that somehow. So I told him what I observed and suggested to him that he had more control than he thought he did. It appeared to be what he needed."

"He does seem more stable," Tom said. Proving that he observed more than he appeared to; Beverly looked sidelong at him and wondered what he'd talked to Wes about, the times he'd spent on the holodeck with him.

"If he is honestly considering being a teacher, it might make sense to explore more options here on Earth. Perhaps he intended to stay on Earth and so spending time with Sarah is an easy choice for him to make." 

Beverly noticed the instant Deanna's eyes registered that she had sensed Beverly's surprise and upset about that revelation. Turning to Tom, Beverly said, "He didn't say anything about wanting to be a teacher."

"You said you didn't want to pressure him so you didn't want to ask," Tom said.

"Wesley appears to be doing much better than he was when he first came to the _Enterprise_ ," Data said. "I do not believe you have any concrete reason to worry, Beverly."

"That doesn't keep a mother from being worried," Deanna said, amusement coloring her tone. 

Beverly looked at her friend, with whom she had had so many intimate chats, so many conversations about her son and all her feelings about her son, and wanted to ask questions. She pressed her lips together instead and turned her attention to the wine glass in her hand, as if the rich, dusky, slightly-sour red could tell her how her son was really doing, how Wes had changed, what he was really thinking, and whether the blond woman had stolen him away forever. He'd stopped being the confiding little boy she had before after the incident at the Academy, but she'd hoped for having an adult son who started to open up a little more about himself.

Deanna's smile had waned by the time she looked up again. "How has he been since he came back from the _Enterprise_?"

"He told me everything is fine. I'm not sure I accept that." Beverly rolled her eyes and sipped wine.

"He's been through a lot. He might need to think it through before he goes into detail," Deanna said. She raised her head as if listening to something. 

Beverly turned her head to look in the same direction, as Jean-Luc arrived -- he appeared around a hedge, turning a corner into the yard, approaching with a happy smile and looking very different than when he wore a uniform. "Good, good," he said, waving at the wine bottle on the table. 

"Is André staying for dinner?" Deanna poured another glass for him as he sat down. 

"I think so. Welcome, friends," he said as he reached for his glass. "How is the new ship coming along?"

"Going well," Tom said. And they embarked on the technical specs tour of the century. Deanna caught Beverly's eye, nodded toward the house, and they escaped inside. 

The interior of the house was cool and quiet. Their shoes tapping the hardwood floor echoed. As they entered the kitchen, filled with light from the broad windows, Beverly sighed. "It's a beautiful house."

"It is, and much bigger than I expected. There is a lot of real estate here. Jean-Luc is thinking about following André's advice and selling the acreage at the bottom of the hill." Deanna shot her a sly look as she opened the stasis unit. "So you're already meeting his family?"

"I already knew his sister. Why wouldn't I meet them? He spends time with Wes, or at least he did until Wes took off with Sarah."

"Want to help me decide what we're having for dinner?"

"Look at you," Beverly said, watching her friend taking food out and arranging it on the countertop. 

Deanna glanced around the kitchen again, and smiled at her. "I know. A long way from where we started."

"This is not where I expected to be, ever," Beverly said. "Didn't expect Jean-Luc to come home."

"I know. It looked very bleak for a while."

"I'm still struggling with the idea that he wants children -- are you pregnant, yet?"

Deanna turned away. "Not yet." 

She didn't sound upset, but she wasn't looking up. She fiddled with a container of vegetables. Beverly went to her side, ran her fingers down Deanna's sleeve. "It took months, to get pregnant with Wes. Part of it was duty keeping us busy but a lot of it is just the way it works. It takes time."

"I know."

Beverly followed Deanna to the far end of the kitchen, and watched her lean on the sink to look out the window. "What's wrong?"

"Maybe it's too much too fast."

"Having a baby?"

"I've been thinking about the _Enterprise_ and the crew. All the cadets. The way Starfleet has been recruiting -- have you listened to the news feeds?"

Beverly crossed her arms. "You might be having second thoughts about your - I guess it's not a promotion. Your change of direction?"

"Not exactly. I wonder if I'm not seeing the scope of the work, that's all. If we're missing something. If we're doing the right thing."

"I understand, but I also know there's not really anything else to do. It's not really in his nature, or yours, to just retire and let things happen."

Deanna turned around to gaze at her with sober eyes. "Not an option, no. We're being sent into a situation near the Klingon empire, after leave. And from there it will likely be more of the same."

"Maybe so, but at least you have someone to come home to, and maybe it will be those moments of happiness that keep you motivated?"

It was concerning, that the one friend she had who had always been able to ground herself and recover from all the things that wore on them looked dubious. Deanna nodded, though, and gestured at the cupboard over the stove. "We'll need something to mix the salad in."

"Yes, sir," Beverly said, with forced enthusiasm, reaching up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing a Yar/Data for a multifandom Big Bang - not abandoning wips, just really focused on one story for a while. Hoping to post the new story early next year after the artist has finished the art that's supposed to be posted with it.
> 
> Meanwhile, back to the WIP.

Natalia took a few minutes after materializing to re-orient herself. The Picard home was in a completely different time zone. She'd gotten there in the middle of the day; the sun was straight up above her, as she stood on the lawn in front of the house. It was handy to be able to return to the ship and ask to be sent to specific coordinates, instead of relying on the public transporters and having to find a way to the house from there. 

She went up to stand at the door, on the porch outside, and contemplated whether to knock. Shaking herself, she rolled her eyes at herself, raised a fist, and then noticed the button to the left of the doorknob. "Ring, knock, whatever," she muttered, dropping the fist and reaching with her left hand to ring.

When the door opened she found herself looking at a different version of her commanding officer. Captain Picard wore a white shirt, open to the second button. He was smiling when the door opened, and the smile reached his eyes. "Natalia," he exclaimed. "Good afternoon! Come in." He stepped back, pulling the door open wider.

"You have an amazing house," she said, her eyes roaming around as she stepped into the cool hallway. There were some pictures hanging on the walls further down, and a light hanging above their heads. A stairwell on the right, and doors on either side of them. 

"Come have some tea. I'll give you a tour later." He turned toward the far end of the hall, the sound of his boots on the hardwood floor echoing. When she didn't immediately follow he half-turned and gazed back at her.

Natalia tried to shake off the odd feeling of disconnect and shock. It wasn't as though she'd expected to see him in uniform. Or maybe it was the abrupt transition to mid-afternoon France, or leaving her mother back at the house -- the look on her face, as she stood hugging herself on the front doorstep.

Natalia moved her feet at last. When she caught up to him, she smiled apologetically.

"Something amiss?" he asked.

"I guess I'm feeling a bit... off."

"How is your mother?" The captain seemed concerned, crossing his arms, and his patience invited a response.

"I guess better. I've been spending a lot of time with her. I think sometimes that it's better, then she looks at me with that expression and it's strained again."

"Relations between parents and adult children can be tense," he said. Then turned his head to look up at a picture on the wall. A man and a woman, standing with two boys in front of the house they were in. "Sometimes more than tense."

"Your parents," she commented, thinking there was a family resemblance. The woman was beautiful, smiling happily. The man was proud, his head held up and one of his hands on the shoulder of each boy.

"I can't undo the arguments or the anger," he said, gazing at the faces in the picture with a sad smile. "There are good memories, however. I sometimes wonder how many more there could have been, if I had tried to mend fences."

"That's a weird term, isn't it? Mending fences?"

The captain glanced sidelong at her. "Not at all. Counselor Troi would tell you that healthy relationships have boundaries. Fences are necessary."

"Uncle Telly liked the commander a lot," Natalia said, escaping. "And you. I spent the day with him yesterday."

"Mr. Finch is a wise man," the captain said.

"I think so. I -- " Natalia hesitated on the brink. Mouth open, she looked up at the picture of the captain's family, and then at him. Wearing casual clothing, standing in the hallway watching her struggle with a resolution she'd made the day she'd boarded the _Enterprise_ , to be nothing but the epitome of a good officer. "When I was notified of my field placement, I asked him about how to approach relationships on a starship. What he thought I should do. Yesterday he asked me how that was going, if I had any insight or change of heart on my approach."

"I seem to remember having a discussion or two on that topic with you as well. What did you tell him?"

"I told him that my idea wasn't working. That being nothing but professional was too hard, because people were just too friendly."

The captain's amusement wasn't unexpected; his smirk was. "Having ridden the pendulum from one extreme to the other, I continue to recommend balance. Come along, Nat." He turned and started down the hall toward the back of the house.

"It's really an impressive house," she said, to have something to say. Then remembered she'd already complimented the house. "I mean, it's sort of like a castle. I think you could fit Mom's house in one side of it." She smiled, thinking ahead. "I guess you're planning to have a lot of kids?"

He started to chuckle, then to laugh outright. He kept walking, opened the door and stepped out. When Natalia took her turn stepping outside, she found herself in a beautiful yard with a table and chairs in the center, occupied by Deanna, Dr. Crusher, Captain Glendenning and Commander Data. And the first three were watching the android raptly, as he opened his mouth and reached up to take something off the tip of his tongue.

"Natalia Greenman is here," Captain Picard announced, as he returned to an empty chair next to Deanna. He stopped with his hand on the back of the chair and stared at the cherry in Data's hand. 

"Come sit down, Nat," Deanna said, gesturing to the chair on her right. "We were just -- experimenting. How are you? Enjoying your vacation, I hope."

Natalia came around the table and sat down with them. She smiled at her former counselor, glanced around at the others -- the captain seemed a bit anxious, Data was no longer holding the cherry, and Glendenning had a lazy grin that suggested they'd been caught at something. The doctor was sipping whatever she was drinking -- some amber beverage in a tall glass. "Sort of. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Not at all," Deanna said with a pleasant smile. "We were talking about some of the things we've been doing on leave."

"Today was the first of five days of leave," Data said. "Because the _Venture_ is not yet fully staffed, we have more to do. But there are workers installing furnishings and flooring, so we will be returning when they are finished to continue."

Natalia had always liked Data. He'd been polite to a fault, always, regardless of rank. She smiled fondly at him. "Are you starting a new ensemble?"

"I am -- but it will be guitars and mandolins," Data said. 

"Tom's influence," Deanna said, turning her warm smile on Glendenning. "Maybe you'll send us a recording?"

"Or have holographic jam sessions," Tom said. "They have some talent on the _Enterprise_ , right?" He turned to Beverly.

"Quite a bit. Maybe we should think about putting together an album," Beverly said, sliding her eyes to the left to smirk at Captain Picard. She'd known the captain before, had been his friend for decades, so Natalia knew this was like the ongoing teasing Uncle Telly and her mother kept up through the years. "Captain Picard's all-Starfleet orchestra."

"Naming things isn't your forté," the captain said.

"Jean-Luc and the Jammers," Tom said.

"None of you are any good at this, are you?" Natalia said. Then as they all turned to her in surprise, the embarrassment and awkwardness struck. "Well, you're overlooking the obvious," she added, hoping her cheeks weren't as red as usual.

"Apparently so." Deanna smiled encouragingly at her. She was so relaxed, sitting there in the garden. She wore a dress that looked gorgeous on her -- emerald green, with a bright pendant dangling on a silver chain just above her collar bone. "Do you have a suggestion?"

"If we're talking about a band of space-going officers, why not Spatial Distortions? Or The Tachyon Emissions? Or Subspace Transmissions?"

Captain Picard chuckled at it, glancing around at the others. Glendenning put his hands behind his head and leaned back, nodding. Data said, "That does sound like an appropriate name for a musical group aboard a starship."

"Particularly if it's on two starships, being implemented via subspace," Beverly said. 

They continued discussing it, occasionally floating other possible names, including Natalia in the discussion -- she tried to relax and enjoy it. Deanna got a bottle of wine at one point, and they all drank wine as the afternoon waned. Natalia started to wonder about when dinner would be served. Her stomach started to feel the onset of hunger. Then a slap of small shoes on pavers distracted her; she turned to look, and was surprised to see the top of a child's head bobbing into view on the other side of the hedge along the outer border of the yard. A toddler came through the open gate, grinning maniacally, racing toward them with her shoulder-length flyaway blond hair in disarray around her head. She raced around the table, flinging herself at the captain. Natalia watched him sit there while the little girl struggled up into his lap and flung herself against his chest, forcing him to put his arms around her.

" _Oncle_ ," she blurted, giggling.

"Gigi has been visiting us since we've been here. She's his sister-in-law's niece," Deanna said. "Marie is no doubt coming along any minute." 

"It's been fun, but Sweet Cheeks and I need to get going," Glendenning said, rising from the chair. Data mouthed the words "sweet cheeks" and seemed confused.

Beverly's subtly-pained expression suggested she tolerated this sort of thing often. She got up too, but went to brush her fingers along Captain Picard's shoulder then turned to embrace Deanna, who'd risen to do it.

Data got up as well. "I will be joining Geordi for some sightseeing," he said. "But thank you for inviting me, Captain. Deanna."

"You're welcome any time we're here, Data," the captain said. "Enjoy your time off."

Glendenning moved in as Beverly stepped off in the direction of the gate. He leaned, kissed Deanna's cheek, and raised a hand to forehead to give the captain a jaunty salute. "Thanks, Jean-Luc. As for you, Ensign, you stay out of trouble."

"Yeah, yeah," Natalia intoned, grinning back at him. 

Data followed the couple out the gate, tapped his badge, and contacted the public transporter hub. He was gone in a minute. Tom contacted his vessel and then the two of them were beaming out as well. Natalia turned to her hosts; Deanna was seated once more. The captain tolerated the little girl with far more grace than Natalia expected. She said something in what must have been slurred French, and he responded in kind, evoking a giggle and some more wriggling.

Being left alone with her two commanding officers made Natalia nervous -- but the glass and a half of wine she'd sipped countered it somewhat. That and their own state of relaxation. 

"After we're back aboard, I'm asking Natalia to help me with the cadets on a more consistent, official basis," Deanna said out of nowhere.

The captain's brows drew together, leading to Natalia experiencing an internal sort of flinch. But instead of scolding he said, calmly, with a hint of humor, "You could have said you needed an assistant."

"I don't, but I can foresee a time when I will." Deanna's eyes flicked to the child in his arms. Gigi was leaning on him, a finger and thumb in her mouth, on her way to a nap.

"Hello," came a woman's call, and Natalia turned to see a smiling woman and a child coming along the fence from the same direction as Gigi had come. "I see she found you. I hope you don't mind that her sister Esmée came with us? Are we ready to begin dinner?"

'Marie," the captain called out happily. Gigi roused, whimpering a little. Natalia watched him rise, carry the child over, lean and kiss the woman on each cheek, and speak in French to the girl, who looked about eight. She blushed and giggled at whatever was said.

Natalia turned to Deanna, to find her watching her instead of the captain. Stifling the shrug, Natalia reached for her wine glass.

"Your mother said you made the cobbler for her party," Deanna said. "I picked up some apples in the market. Would you like to make dessert?"

"Sure," Natalia blurted, surprised and grinning. Happy to have something to do. "You know... I bet you're going to need a babysitter, too. Right?"

Deanna glanced at the captain and Marie heading for the house, the children following them hand in hand. The commander smiled, scooted her chair back a little, and gave Natalia a nod. "You are a good guesser."

"I am?" She put her hand to her mouth. That was too excited, practically squeaky.

Deanna turned back again from starting to follow the others, to gaze at her sternly. She softened it with a smile. "Please remember we prefer to keep our personal lives private. Come along, Chef Greenman."


	10. Chapter 10

Deanna put the last of the dinner dishes in the washer and closed the unit. She could hear the laughter echoing from the parlor. Jean-Luc was entertaining Marie and Natalia, the girls were in the yard chasing fireflies in the dusk, and she was supposed to get the port and four glasses then return.

Instead, she went to the sink and looked out the window. The full moon had been hanging in the sky in the afternoon, a paler version of itself. It was behind the trees at the moment in the dark sky. A strange sky. The moons of Betazed prevented the spectacle of such a sky full of stars. She watched the silhouettes of the trees move in the breeze, then turned to the liquor cabinet.

The days they had spent at the house had been lazy, save for the calisthenics each of them continued to do. The course of their early morning run along the roads and paths had been different each day. It was strange at first -- for a few days she'd caught herself waiting for something, and guessed that she'd been so accustomed to alerts and emergencies that she expected it. Jean-Luc had encouraged her to consider the house hers, to change whatever she wanted, and shared memories. 

It was peculiar to witness all the little moments of grief, as he settled into his family home. She had her own grief attached to the house. And she'd thought it was her imagination at first, but she thought she sensed echoes of the emotions of others. It was something she'd always experienced as fleeting and nebulous. She imagined the generations who had lived here, heard the stories from Jean-Luc, and it seemed to her she sensed the emotions associated with the events sometimes.

And the parlor reminded her of Yvette. At first too much. The grief had faded, the longer they were in the house. But there were so many pictures around that she would be reminded often. 

Deanna took the tray with the bottle of porter and four glasses through to the parlor. They all looked up -- Natalia had a slight pinch in her brow that matched the concern Deanna could sense. Marie smiled faintly and did better at masking hers.

"It's been nice to have you here, Natalia," she said, placing the tray next to Jean-Luc's chair. She sat in the chair on the other side of the small round table. It was an 'incidental table' or so he'd called it. There were a lot of furnishings in the house in excess of what seemed functional. It reminded Deanna of her mother's homes, all the keepsakes and things that had appealed to Lwaxana's whimsy.

"I'm glad I came. I almost didn't." She sat up a little on her end of the couch. Marie was leaning back and taking it easy on the other end of it.

The ensign seemed less troubled than when she'd arrived, but Deanna could tell she still felt uneasy. Natalia's social anxiety tended to run high, and her general performance anxiety often compounded it, when she attempted to socialize with superior officers. She'd been chatting with them on a broad variety of topics, artfully deflecting from time to time with humor to cope with more stressful subjects.

"You're tired, _cherie_ ," Marie said softly, gazing at Deanna. 

"A little. More relaxed, I'd say," Deanna replied with a smile. She took the glass of port Jean-Luc passed to her. He met her eyes. His concern waxed and waned throughout the day -- he was doing an admirable job of refocusing and setting aside that anxiety he felt about the possibility of pregnancy. 

"Tomorrow I will leave the girls at home, and help you with the attic," Marie said. They had discussed at length what was stored in the house, and there were things Marie felt ready to find and take with her, souvenirs of her deceased husband and son. Toys that Rene had played with, pictures, things that she hadn't wanted to look at while mourning the loss. 

"I had a look up there -- wear something you won't mind getting dirty," Jean-Luc said. 

"Are you staying with us tonight, Natalia?" Deanna asked. "I wouldn't expect you to work -- if you stay I encourage you to explore the countryside, go into town, instead of crawling in the attic with us."

"I -- guess," she stammered. "I don't have any real plans for the next couple of days. But I don't want to impose."

"You might have noticed the house? The room at the end of the hall upstairs is waiting," Jean-Luc said. He'd taken her on a tour earlier in the afternoon. He passed Marie her port, settled back in his chair, and sipped. 

"I'm sure you are able to fend for yourself," Deanna said. "Feel free to stay. We are here for another week, so beyond that, you'll have to report for duty."

Natalia gave her a lopsided grin. "Okay. Thanks. But I get to make dinner tomorrow night to say thanks."

"And you can replicate anything you need," Jean-Luc added. They'd upgraded the house replicator to one that would make a variety of objects and clothing. The model Marie had had installed when she married Robert had been sufficient only for food and drink.

"Towels are in the hall closet upstairs," Deanna said. "The showers are not sonic."

Natalia glanced down at her glass and nodded. "Thanks. I think I'll turn in. See you in the morning."

"We run at seven and eat breakfast by eight thirty," Deanna said. "Good night."

The ensign handed the glass back to Jean-Luc and left the room; they heard her shoes on the stairs as she went up. Marie sighed. "I should probably go as well. The girls are up past their bedtimes."

"They're tired, but having fun," Deanna said. "I'll see you tomorrow." She stood and gave Marie a quick hug as she made ready to go. 

"Good night, Marie," Jean-Luc said. The woman smiled at him, and returned the blessing, before heading out of the parlor.

Deanna sat down again, and glanced at the big clock in the corner. "It's only eight."

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, as the front door closed again. 

"I may be settling into the time zone, but we did a lot today. And yet I'm not sleepy. Just tired. I enjoyed having Beverly and Tom here, and Data. But Natalia is very nervous. She's been extremely vigilant each time you're in her presence." Deanna sipped her port. It was heady and a little sweet.

"Do you think...."

He hadn't asked in a few days, but she knew he'd been wondering whether or not she might be pregnant. He knew that it wasn't that simple; conception didn't mean implantation, and it took a week to ten days to be actually pregnant. As of the last time she'd used the tricorder, nine days ago, she hadn't conceived.

"I haven't checked. Do you want to? The tricorder is upstairs."

He put the stopper in the bottle of port and put down his near-empty glass, so she took that as a yes. As they reached the stairs she felt his fingers catch hers, and ascended with him slowly. 

They heard the water in the bathroom halfway down the hall -- Natalia was getting ready for bed. The master bedroom was down a second hallway running the length of the house, at the other end of the second floor. Plenty of distance from the rooms that were formerly occupied by the children, Jean-Luc had commented. 

She got the tricorder off the old dresser, where it had resided along with their comm badges since they'd arrived. "Here, you do the honors," she said, handing it to him as he stood behind her.

Jean-Luc removed the wand from the back of the medical tricorder and touched the panel to turn it on; it was already set to scan for very specific hormones and detect the zygote. The moment it took seemed too long. He smiled, and the excitement he exuded told her before he turned the tricorder so she could see.

"Ah," she sighed, tipping to lean on him as he put his arm around her. "Conception. But not quite pregnant yet. Your valiant efforts have paid off."

He laughed -- more out of happiness than amusement, she thought. Returning the tricorder to the dresser, he drew her into his arms and held her tightly. Speechless, apparently, and almost vibrating with joy. 

"We should go for a walk," she said at length. "In the moonlight. I suspect there is a nice view from your treehouse."

He had rebuilt the treehouse over two days, a curious thing she thought at first. But he'd decided that the children would like it, and Gigi had indeed enjoyed that Oncle had made her a place to climb into with her doll. And he'd also meant their own children, however many there would be. The new treehouse didn't have walls yet but it was made of sturdy planks, and the rotted bits of the old one were now in a burn pile in the vineyard with old vine trimmings. She hadn't been out to see it yet.

"Are you sure?"

His tentativeness tempered his excitement. She closed her eyes and smiled, rolled her eyes behind her eyelids -- new fathers were often this anxious. "I'm probably going to be teaching karate classes for quite a few months. Pregnancy doesn't mean disabled, you know. If you visited my class you would see Lieutenant Cabello, four months pregnant and throwing the other students around."

"I'll get some blankets."

She put on a coat, and brought along a pillow. It was indeed a beautiful night, not too cold, and she decided that the treehouse was in fact a fine idea for adults, too, as they spooned together under the blankets. 

"This is very nice," she murmured, gazing up at the stars that were visible. The moon was far off on the horizon now. She could see faint lights from the neighboring vineyard to the west, through the branches of the trees. Crickets chirped constantly and occasionally there was a high croaking of a frog. Somewhere close there was a pond. Something to investigate with Gigi, when she returned for another visit.

"I should have brought -- ah. Wine is probably a bad idea, now, is it not?"

"After the implantation it will be. I won't miss it. Chocolate on the other hand is perfectly fine, in moderation."

"Are we still naming her after my mother?"

Deanna sighed. "Her?"

"I know it may not be a girl. But our child is not an 'it.'" 

She smiled, her cheek moving against the rough material of his shirt; she shifted, rolling toward him more, and closed her eyes. He'd wrapped her up in one blanket and pulled the other over both of them. "You will be such a good father."

She'd said it before, but each time she said it he reacted the same way, confirming it was true. His anticipation grew each time, his trepidation was on the wane, and he was happy with the decision to have children. More than happy, now. His arms tightened around her. 

There had been these moments, hours, of simply floating together in joy, throughout their leave. It was difficult sometimes to set aside thoughts of the future; they knew the next mission would be tense. Her first one as the first officer, and his usual was to research and plan ahead as much as possible. But they had agreed to ignore all of that for the duration of leave. He was doing so well at it, and she was the one finding herself pensive and worried....

Once again, she shoved the future away, and came back to the treehouse. Somewhere in the woods, a bird called out once. 

"Yvette. Or Yves," she said, experimenting. Her French accent was improving thanks to plenty of opportunities to speak it. "Some couples choose an interim name during pregnancy. The Cabello baby is currently named Sprog. She started calling it that after the first look at the embryo."

"Yves," Jean-Luc said firmly. "We can change it when the gender is obvious, if we need." His hand wandered down and landed on her belly.

"Yves," she echoed, affirming the choice. "Congratulations, Papa."

A wave of joy swept over her from him. He began to hum a little, then started to sing quietly. 

_"Au clair de la lune_  
_Mon ami Pierrot_  
_Prete-moi ta plume_  
_Pour écrire un mot._

_Ma chandelle est morte_  
_Je n'ai plus de feu_  
_Ouvre-moi ta porte_  
_Pour l'amour de Dieu...."_

Deanna smiled, happy to note that she didn't feel the tug of sadness at hearing the song Yvette had sang during their brief time together. She thought instead of Yvette's joy that her younger son would have children, and started to hum along with him, paying attention so she could learn the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off for a week backpacking. Have a great week.


	11. Chapter 11

Tom wondered if he should have briefed Beverly before they materialized on the lawn of his mother's house. The house was the same -- the family made a point of keeping it that way, his sisters letting him know what he needed to pitch in when they needed help. Catriona had just had a new roof put on; the red laminate worked well with the brown and tan of the house. The yard was on a watering schedule controlled by the house computer and looked green and freshly mowed. 

"Tom?"

He shook himself out of the trance. Smiled, shrugged, reached up to unnecessarily brush her hair back with a finger. She was smiling, but her eyes asked questions.

"It's been a long time," he said, glancing around the house and the property again. The shade trees around the house partially obscured the acreage beyond; three long greenhouses full of roses, also surrounded by young trees and other foliage but the shining white walls were obvious enough. It had been at least fifteen years, in fact. He'd seen his sisters once in a while but not come home in a long, long time. Too many long assignments.

"It's a nice house. I've never lived in a house like it," Beverly said. "Never had a family that required anything so big."

"It's old and cavernous -- my room was upstairs, on that end." He pointed at the south end of the two-story house.

"We can go, if you don't want to do this," she said unexpectedly.

Tom turned to look at her. He had a habit of not making eye contact, when he was nervous, though most of the time he could rely on his practiced nonchalance to hide that. But Beverly was sharp, and probably seeing right through his usual facade.

It was tempting, so tempting, to bail out and go somewhere else with her.

"I'm not sure that it's going to be possible to be back here any time soon," he said. "And I know the kids are nearly adults, and the last time I saw them they were toddlers." A slight exaggeration, one had been a little older than that, but only by a couple years.

"I know how you feel," she said softly, quite serious. Now she had her arms crossed but with a looser and lower angle than she'd have when defensive. "I occasionally went back to see Nana, and it was tough. And I haven't seen Jack's parents since his funeral. At one time I thought they would always be family to me. I think it's just his father now, someone at Melissa's party told me his mother died.... I feel so disconnected sometimes looking at the news. Ship duty feels like all I have left." Her shoulders hunched a little; he was sure it was an unconscious shrug of discomfort. Now she was looking at the house again. "Deanna told me once that so many officers joined Starfleet to escape something, and I thought then that she must be exaggerating. But I wonder if I could come back down to Earth, or some other world, after all that's happened. At Melissa's I just felt... rootless. It's fun to be a tourist but it's all I ever feel, here on Earth. Like I'm just an observer on another world where I'll be staying for a few days and then gone on to the next, like I've done for years."

"You seemed okay when we were at the Picard place," he said. "I think your home is people, maybe."

She rolled her eyes, grimacing, then smiled sadly. "I guess." That didn't help. Probably it made her think about Wesley, who was likely not avoiding them intentionally, but also not thinking about his mother and how she would feel about his continued absence.

Tom thought about the last time he was home -- his sisters had been genuinely happy to see him, and the first hour with the family had coasted along on that emotional high. The niece and nephew had been excited and asked a thousand questions. Then the basics had been covered, and the tension started, about the same time they started asking about his life. He had a cover story for most of the intelligence work. The problem was that he had so little practice being open and honest without cracking jokes and constantly deflecting that when he tried, it was awkward. Since that showed it made it awkward for his sisters.

"If you'd rather not," he began, but a door banged, and they turned as one to see a young man in a green shirt and black charging out onto the lawn.

"Hey, Uncle Ger," the kid yelled. Home was also the place where people knew Tom's first name was actually Geraint. If only his mother had been less of a romantic.

"Hey," he called out in response, then turned back to Beverly and dropped his voice to a murmur. "We can go any time you like. You just give me the word, I'll tell 'em we have a crisis to handle."

Beverly's smile brightened. "I was going to say I'm up for whatever you want -- it's your family. I'll be here as long as you like."

Tom turned to grin at the boy who'd loped up to them. "Bronson Sinclair, I do declare."

Bronson grinned. He had a few more freckles and about three feet in each direction more of himself, than the last time Tom had seen him. And his voice was now a deeper tenor. "You said that last time you came home. Is this your girlfriend?"

"This exquisite work of art is Dr. Beverly Crusher," Tom said, gesturing at her with a flourish. "She is not a girl. She is also much more than my friend. This is my nephew, Bronson, whom you may be surprised to learn is your friend Catriona's older child."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sinclair," she said, blushing a little. "I knew your mother when she was in her twenties."

"Mom told me," Bronson said. "It's nice to meet you. Want to come in? Everyone's looking forward to seeing you."

As they followed the broad-shouldered young man toward the house, Tom caught Beverly's fingers in his. "Maybe it'll be okay," he said under his breath.

Bronson sounded off, his announcement of their presence echoing in the front hall and around the house. And then there came the gathering of the Sinclairs and Glendennings. His three sisters, their children, and two men Tom had not met yet arrived from all directions to greet them. Chloe and Cressida looked less twinlike than usual, thanks to Chloe's habit of coloring her hair. Today she was a redhead like Catriona instead of a blonde.

"I'm actually the little brother," he said, turning to Beverly with a twin under each arm. "These old ladies are Chloe and Cressida. I think Chloe is the one with coppery locks."

"Geraint Thomas," Cressida scolded. She turned a smile on their guest. "I'm Cressida Glendenning, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Crusher. Welcome. This is my sister, Chloe, and I guess you know Catriona?" She glanced over her shoulder. Cat was standing back and watching with a smile, waiting with her arms around Bronson and his younger sister. She wore one of her long dresses, the full skirt concealing her dancer's legs. She wasn't dancing professionally any longer, but her school was famous. The rich green fabric was warm, to fend off the chill of fall in Oregon.

"It's been a long time, but I remember you, Cat," Beverly said warmly. "And I'm happy to meet the rest of you."

"Is it too soon to welcome you to the family?" Chloe asked, eyeing her brother. It put a tension in the room. Leave it to Chloe to blurt out a tease and kick on the one topic he wouldn't feel comfortable addressing with them. 

"Be nice," Tom said quietly. Just the way their Aunt Aster would chide them -- the same way she would gentle her great big mean-looking German Shepherds. It had always worked equally well on the kids. 

Chloe blushed as prettily as Beverly could. "I didn't mean anything, Doctor."

"Beverly is fine. And I have thicker skin than that -- I know you were trying to tease him," Beverly said. "I was pretty sure that trait was genetic."

Everyone laughed, partly out of relief, and Catriona came forward for her hug from Tom. "But I have to wonder -- because he's never brought anyone home before. And I did try to tell you years ago, remember, that you should meet him?"

"I know. And you might have even been right back then, but somehow I think we're both different people than we would have been back then." Beverly's light tone and her smile helped her ease on through the subject to change it. "I'm curious, are these your children? You're making me wish I'd brought Wesley with me."

That launched conversation about the kids, and Beverly followed Catriona and her teenagers toward the living room. Chloe left Tom to go to the taller of the two men, a dark-haired, grinning fellow who looked more relaxed than just about anyone Tom had run into lately, which suggested he wasn't Starfleet. "This is Ari Belkin," she told Tom.

Ari stepped forward and held out a hand. His grip on Tom's hand was firm. "Chloe's told me a lot about you. I should probably mention that I really like your sister and I'm not about to do anything to hurt her."

"Sounds like she told you a little more than necessary," Tom said with a lopsided grin. "The black belt only means I beat up other karate practitioners, y'know."

A lie, but Ari nodded and chuckled along with him. The other man said, "Al Watson. I might be Cressida's friend."

"Oh," Cressida blurted. "You should be worried, after that crack! I'm going to get a pitcher of lemonade and decide whether that's true -- go on in, Geraint. Cat might be telling your girlfriend some stories you don't want her to hear."

"I guess I'm in trouble," Al said, shrugging as Cressida swept by him down the hall to the kitchen. He didn't look upset; his warm brown eyes were laughing, in fact. "Nice to meet you, Captain. Shall we?"

Tom went into the living room behind Chloe and Ari, and Al followed. Tom scanned the room automatically going in. Old habits died hard. There were of course no Founders in the vases or Breen in the fireplace, so he relaxed and swaggered on over to the loveseat where Beverly sat. The living room had been his mother's pride and joy. She loved old wood furnishings from centuries gone by, and didn't mind that half the room was Victorian and the rest from a later era. As long as it all matched more or less. She'd liked the rich reddish-browns more than very dark or oak wood. The upholstery had all been redone several years ago, one of Chloe's projects, and she'd chosen a dusky dark blue. Chloe and Ari sat on the couch, close enough for Ari to put his arm around her. Tom wondered how long they'd been together. Chloe was the most hesitant of the sisters when it came to men.

"I really like the furniture," Beverly said, as Tom sat down with her. "This has been in your family for a while?"

"It has. Mom inherited it from her mother, it's been in the Sinclair family for generations," Catriona said. She sat in their mother's favorite chair, a glorious high-backed armchair with elegant whorls of glossy wood at the ends of the arms. Bronson and Briona were sitting in chairs to her left. Though the throne was at one end of the room at a right angle to the fireplace, it always felt as though it was the center of attention when they gathered in this room.

"It's been a week for old houses," Tom said, glancing at Beverly.

"You've never really cared much about the house," Chloe said, giving him a sly look. "Or old things. Are you looking at houses? Because this one could use a permanent occupant _or two_ to look after it."

Beverly looked confused, as Catriona sighed. Cressida brought in a tray of glasses and put it on the coffee table, then started to pour lemonade. "Who wants a glass of cold lemonade?"

"Chloe and Cat run a dance studio in San Francisco, and Cressida teaches in Seattle," Tom explained. "Occasionally they ask when I'm coming back to raise the roses, so they don't have to hire a gardener. I'll take a glass, as long as it isn't sugar with a little lemon, Cress."

"You just got a new ship, so I'd guess the answer would still be 'not yet,'" Beverly said.

Tom flinched in anticipation of the reaction -- and was not disappointed. Cressida almost dropped the pitcher. Chloe rocketed up from the chair she'd just sat down in, and Bronson exclaimed, "A new ship? Which one?"

Tom smirked at Beverly. "Oops," she said.

"Should've had a briefing," Tom replied, with a shrug to let her know it wasn't a big deal.

"Can I come see it?" Briona asked excitedly.

"You can," Tom replied brightly. "Any time you like. We've got a few weeks to go before launch."

"Geraint," Catriona exclaimed, with dismay and ire. Everyone else watched her for a moment -- Tom understood why. She rarely showed that much upset. Cat was usually the poster girl for unflappable; they'd always joked that her picture was next to the word in the dictionary.

"Why didn't you tell us? Of course, you never do," Chloe said.

"Any more than Dad ever talked about anything Starfleet," Cressida chimed in, recovering enough to hand Tom his lemonade. 

"I work with a company that has a Starfleet contract," Al said unexpectedly. He seemed to prefer standing to sitting, and hovered in Cressida's general vicinity. "There are a lot of nondisclosure policies and so forth -- which I understand, but a lot of people think keeping secrets that way is a sign of ulterior motives."

Tom thought about previous visits. "They never asked about my job."

"I did," Chloe said, looking up from her glass of lemonade. "You deflected."

"You have to ask about the part that isn't classified," Tom said. Then chuckled. "Though for some missions that would be the color of my pajamas, pretty much. But there's more to life these days. You could ask me where I was just a day ago."

"I'll fall for that -- where were you?" Chloe asked.

"We were at Captain Picard's winery. I should have asked for wine," Tom said.

"You could have bought some wine," Beverly said with a grin.

"Like he couldn't afford to spare a gallon or two," Tom chided. Catriona and the others were still looking dubious, perhaps a little wary. "Anyway. I didn't think you were really so interested in Starfleet."

"I'd like to see your ship," Catriona said.

The twins were both shocked by that. Briona bounced in her chair, grinning, looking at her brother. "Can we go now?"

"Next week would be better. There'll be floor to walk on, this week is carpeting and flooring, next week it's impulse engines. And the first officer will be back, you'll like him."

Catriona was staring at him again, as if trying to understand.

"Go ahead, Cat. Say whatever it is you're thinking," he said.

She didn't, not right away. Cressida sat on the end of the couch next to her twin. She glanced from face to face around the room. "I think you've changed," Cressida said.

Tom was too aware of Beverly's attention, sitting there -- but this was part of being with other people. As uncomfortable as it was to be real after decades of hiding behind a front and joking away the questions, it was time to move past it as he'd decided to do. "I think you're right."

"Can I talk to you a moment in the kitchen, Geraint?" Catriona stood up and made a graceful exit from the room.

"Okay, I guess," he said, standing to follow her. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, call security."

Beverly snorted. "Tom."

"Kidding," he said on his way out.

The kitchen was at the other end of the hall, and Cat was making a cup of hot tea for herself when he got there. The white floor and countertops were spotless. Someone had painted pale blue fleur de lis on all the cupboard doors. Cat turned from the replicator in the corner and came to him, her shoes clicking on the laminate floor.

"It's been nine years since you came home," she said, cupping her steaming mint tea in both hands in front of her. "What's going on?"

"Nothing that isn't going on everywhere, for a lot of people. After the war a lot of officers are mustering out entirely because of everything they went through. When I got out of the Cardassian prison I spent some time recuperating and re-evaluating."

Catriona made a face at the mention of the prison. But she didn't ask. "So it took a war to convince you to stop acting like life is one long joke?"

He wanted to defend himself, of course. He knew better. Explanations would be too revealing, and there were still too many things she couldn't know, for everyone's sake. He smiled, easing into the relaxed, playful persona he usually wore. "A war, loneliness, feeling old and tired... take your pick. Or I just changed my mind."

Catriona's eyes narrowed. They were as blue as his. Sinclair eyes, his mother always called them. "I hope you're not leading her on."

Now she was just instigating. He stopped smiling. "No."

"I know it can be tough on a relationship, being officers in Starfleet." And she wasn't wrong. Dad had been absent for most of their childhoods, thanks to Starfleet.

"We're on the same ship, Cat."

"Mom told me once that you were actually working for Starfleet Intelligence," Catriona said. "Does Beverly know?"

That was easy to answer. Beverly knew everything, but Cat could never know. "Mom also thought I was going to be the president of the Federation," he replied. "If I really had been Intelligence you can bet I'd have some innocuous cover story. Starship captains are a bit too high profile for that kind of work. But thanks for the flattery."

Cat sipped her tea, looking him up and down. The plain old shirt and nondescript brown slacks probably didn't meet her approval.

"What is this really about? Are you angry at me for some reason, or did I do something wrong?" Tom gestured with a thumb in the general direction of the front of the house. "I can always take off, if you want. Verly and I are going back to San Francisco -- we have a room and there's plenty of restaurants, if you don't want us to stick around for dinner."

"I tend to agree with the old adage that leopards don't change their spots. I'm just wondering why you're suddenly so serious."

Tom grinned maniacally at that. "Maybe all it took was meeting the right person. What did Auntie say -- all it takes is the right motivation for the kid to straighten up."

Catriona smiled finally with less suspicion. "If that's all it is, I'm happy for you. Beverly's too good for you though."

"Yeah, well, we met at a mutual friend's wedding. I guess she liked the way I could keep up with her on the dance floor."

Briona's high-pitched voice came from the front of the house. "MOM! Can we turn on the music?"

"Predictable," Catriona said. She carried her tea out of the kitchen. Tom followed, and wasn't surprised to see furniture being moved to the edges of the room, when they returned to the party.

Beverly turned to him with concerned eyes. "This is a family tradition," Tom said. "We get together, we dance. You up for a tango, hon?"

Her head came up slightly and her happy smile lit up her face. With the confirmation that the chat with Catriona was nothing serious, back to normal. "Any time. But there's not much room in here, is there?"

"We have a contest," Chloe said, starting to stretch and bend. "Loser does the dinner dishes."

Tom sighed, glanced over at Cat, and cracked his knuckles. "Let's get the party started."


	12. Chapter 12

Marie walked the mile and a half to the Picard estate with her sister's words running through her mind. Sofie was right -- she couldn't deny it. More and more, she felt restless. And Deanna's question about her preferences, whether she wanted to continue taking care of the house and the vineyards, suggested that there was no real need to do so. Not even an expectation. It made little sense to keep staying on the Picard estate while her heart tugged her away down another road. It still felt like home, true. But it felt like it was time to move on from it.

As she reached the last junction, she heard footsteps. Over the gentle hill came the young woman who'd been at dinner the previous evening, Natalia Greenman -- she wore a skin-tight blue outfit and running shoes. She'd been jogging the roads, clearly, and slowed to a stop, breathing hard. "Hi," she called out, walking up to Marie.

"Good morning," Marie exclaimed with a smile. "How many miles?"

"I dunno, I lost track." Natalia ran her hand over her short hair and seemed a bit embarrassed.

They turned to walk up the short road to the estate. Fortunately Natalia slowed down; she had long legs and was much more fit than Marie.

"Do you have family on Earth as well?" Marie asked. She regretted asking; Natalia flinched away from her a little, recovering quickly.

"My mom lives in San Francisco. I spent the past couple weeks with her." There was a whiff of shame in her tone. "My dad died when his ship was destroyed."

"I can see how she might have difficulty seeing you in Starfleet. It's hard to see your child putting herself in harm's way. Although, it is your decision, as an adult, to risk yourself. Your life." It reminded Marie of being a mother. The old pain of losing Rene sat in her chest, heavy and hard. But not sharp or overwhelming as it had been in the year after he died, certainly.

"I think it's that, and also, Dad and Mom had difficulties before he left on the _Xerxes_. It was probably my fault."

"Oh, I doubt that," Marie said mildly. 

"You do?" Natalia was startled.

"When a couple has difficulties their children can feel that way, especially younger children. It's never true. The relationship of the couple stands or falls on its own, and if they allow whatever is happening with the children to be an impediment or blame the child somehow, it is still never the child's fault. And I know that it isn't unusual for the child to feel the guilt well into adulthood, but it's often the case that feelings do not reflect the truth. Parents scapegoating children is not unusual but what could a child possibly have done to damage an adult relationship?"

Natalia's pace slowed; she kept glancing at Marie, thinking about this very seriously. So it was obviously very important to her, whatever the issue was -- something that still brought up overwhelming feelings. "You sound like a counselor?"

"I was in counseling, for a while after my husband and son died, and my mother was a psychologist. So perhaps I sound as though I am one myself." Marie smiled at the girl and tucked her arm through hers. "You may be stressed about your relationship with your mother?"

"Since I was assaulted when I was twelve. And I think now she's really upset with me for staying in Starfleet. I wasn't sure, for a while, even after I graduated. But I really feel like I found my footing now, and I want to stay aboard the _Enterprise_. So I think she's mad at me. I talked a bit about what I've been doing and what excites me about being an officer. She stopped talking to me three days ago. I couldn't get her to tell me what was wrong. So I left the house and stayed in Starfleet housing until I came to visit yesterday."

"Oh," Marie said with a smile. "How sad for her. How sad for you. But it won't be permanent."

"Why do you say that?" 

They reached the yard, strolled along the flower beds at the edge of the lawn, and turned up the narrow foot path in the middle of the lawn to the front porch. It had taken a while to convince Robert to create a yard nearer the winery for utility vehicles and let her seed the area in front of the house with grass and flowers. She smiled at the thought that Jean-Luc's children would be able to play on the grass, as she'd hoped her second child would. That she had never been able to have that child with Robert was another loss she had grieved. 

"Mothers who love their children enough to cling to them cannot bear to excommunicate them," Marie said, letting go of Natalia's arm. "No matter how stormy the relationship is, no matter the injury. I was never at odds with my own mother, but I have friends who follow the pattern. Argue, back off, come back. I wonder too if she misses her child. You are an adult now. It's so hard to lose a child."

"You mean she misses the kid I used to be?" It was like a revelation. Natalia stopped walking, and seemed shocked. Her eyes went distant and her mouth hung open slightly.

"My mother told me once when I was pregnant, that children are the best and the worst thing we can experience. We love them, while they grow and become adults, and that's what we want. More than anything." She ignored the heaviness in her chest, as Rene was never far from her thoughts -- her bright boy who would never follow his uncle to the stars. "We love the adults that they become, the friends who are bonded to us by blood. But we grieve the little laughing people that they were who we will never see again." A few tears fell as she spoke. She dashed them away with her fingertips and smiled again. "I didn't have much time with Madame Picard, she finally passed shortly after Robert and I married. But even at the end of her life she would look at her old albums full of the happy smiling faces of her boys. She missed them as much as she missed her younger son while he was away becoming a starship captain. But she knew why he left, why he stayed away, and she supported his career in Starfleet. Mothers know, because we all leave home and find another. It's part of becoming an adult."

"But why can't Mom tell me that?"

"Oh, my dear. I don't know that's the problem -- but I think it's part of it. Because as much as I wanted my son to be a man and follow his own path in life, I also knew how hard it would be when he finally did so." Except he never had the chance.

Natalia took a few steps and stopped again. Marie was glad she was caught up in herself and not looking; the tears were a little more difficult to deal with this time. She watched the young woman stare at the geraniums on the edge of the path. By the time Natalia turned around, Marie was composed again, smiling, still waiting. 

"Thanks for telling me," Natalia said, her own face flushed and tears glittering on her lashes. "I'm going to go think about this some more."

"It's no trouble, my dear. I hope that you and your mother work it out before you leave again." 

Marie watched her go into the house, and then glanced around the yard. She almost turned to go -- the conversation had brought up so many memories, of Rene, Robert and Yvette. But she'd told Deanna she would help with the attic, so she took deep breaths and gathered herself up internally to face the reminders in all the shelves and boxes up there. 

As she reached the front door, it opened and Deanna stood there, wearing dark blue slacks and a plain white shirt. Her expression said that she had sensed what was going on. Serious, worried, and sad, and she stepped back to let Marie enter, closed the door, then reached out her arms to invite Marie in. 

Marie stepped into the younger woman's arms, and wrapped her own around Deanna in return. She was smaller than Marie in nearly every dimension, thin and fit, and warm. They stood in the foyer holding each other for a time.

"I know it's been difficult to be here," Deanna murmured at long last. "I'm so sorry."

"It is, and it is not," Marie said, withdrawing and letting her arms fall to her sides. "Would you mind if we have a little tea before we start working?"

"Marie, I would not mind if we didn't do anything about the attic at all -- I went up there this morning early and it looks like one of the cargo holds on the _Enterprise_ when we're taking supplies to a colony," Deanna said, putting her hands to her temples. "Only none of the boxes are labeled!"

Marie laughed at it lightly. "Then let's go have tea and decide whether to face the attic later."

They put water on the stove and set up a tray, putting tea leaves in a basket, adding a third cup in case either Jean-Luc or Natalia joined them, and within ten minutes they were in the parlor waiting for the tea to finish steeping. 

"Do you want to talk about it," Deanna said.

"Oh -- your ensign is having difficulty with her mother, I only tried to encourage her. Told her she and her mother would work it out. Mothering Natalia reminded me that I'm not a mother, any more. But everything does that. Sometimes when I'm out with the girls I miss Rene and Robert. We were going to have another child, but it simply never happened, and then -- well." Marie reached for the lid of the teapot. White china, one of Yvette's favorites. She picked up the pot, poured tea, set it down again and reached for the pitcher of cream.

Deanna watched her with those wide, black eyes. Sad eyes. "I'm so sorry."

" _C'est la vie._ I have been thinking about having a child."

That startled Deanna. "You have?"

"I grieved my losses. I still feel sad, but it isn't traumatic any more. When I hold Gigi it makes me smile but it isn't the same, not at all. I want my own child. It isn't about replacing Rene, or filling a void. I'm not going to be able to have one for much longer, I want to have one, and there's no likelihood of my finding a husband in time, so I spoke to my doctor about it. I have been vacillating for months but I think that knowing you are willing to hire others to care for the estate has helped me feel ready to move on."

Deanna nodded and gave her a thin, tight smile. "I understand. I felt the same way, about having a child."

That startled Marie. "Do you mean before you and Jean-Luc...."

"I'm still young, by Betazoid standards. My mother just had another child," she replied with a roll of the eyes. "But it was just a feeling that I started to have. A yearning that started to creep into my daily schedule, when I wasn't actively focused on something. I would think about Ian. He -- " Tears turned her dark eyes to glass. "I lost him after a day. Only a day. And it isn't about him, but I feel his absence. For the past year, I wished and dreamed about a child, and there wasn't anyone to talk to about it. I wanted one but I also felt stuck in uncertainty, because of everything that was going on in the Federation, and because I had feelings for Jean-Luc. I didn't believe he would want children."

"Then it's wonderful that everything worked out with Jean-Luc. Isn't it?" Marie poured tea for both of them. 

That brought a smile forth, and Deanna blinked away tears. It was so obvious that she loved Jean-Luc deeply. At times Marie almost questioned what had brought them together. Marie thought about Jean-Luc as he had been when he'd come to the vineyard years ago and that too made her curious -- Deanna had been his counselor then. She had to have helped him heal after the Borg. He seemed very different now than he had then.

"You're very curious about something," Deanna said, raising her cup to sip.

"He was not the same when he was here before. I wonder if he has changed so much because he is in love with you."

Deanna tipped her head to the right, her brow wrinkling slightly. "Is he really so different?"

"He was stiff with Rene. He didn't seem to know how to relax. He and Robert would drink together, and _then_ he would sing. But he is better now, with Gigi and Esme. He has been enjoying his time here, it shows in his face and how relaxed he has been. He laughs so easily now."

Deanna was nodding as she spoke. "You would have enjoyed the wedding. We danced until our feet were sore and our legs were aching."

"I wish I could have been there," Marie said. She'd been afraid -- no two ways about it. Crossing the Alpha Quadrant in a spacegoing vessel had terrified her. She had never been farther than the moon, and that one trip with Rene on a field trip with his classmates had been horrifying. Sitting one seat away from a viewport and unable to look out, imagining the vacuum of space and how cold and suffocating it would be, she had white-knuckled the arm rests going and coming back, sworn she would never do it again.

And then the Dominion War had been several years of fear -- would Earth be invaded? Would the Federation be destroyed? Reports of planets invaded and thousands dead had been in the daily news for a long, long time. She had worried about Jean-Luc, and about her own brother, a lieutenant-commander on a science vessel. She knew there was peace now, but were they really safe? She couldn't wrap her head around the distances. Looking at the route on public transport cruisers from Earth to Casperia had made her heart race. The wedding had been so far away that she just couldn't do it. 

Deanna leaned and put a hand on Marie's arm. "We're naming our first child after Yvette. Male or female. And when he's born, we'll do our best to introduce you to him as soon as possible."

Marie smiled, and the tears this time were happy. It was easy to see why Yvette had been so taken with Deanna. "Oh, I hope I can see him. Are you pregnant, then?"

Deanna looked a bit embarrassed. "We have a tricorder. So we know there is a zygote, but it's not implanted yet. I'm embarrassed to say I keep checking."

"Wonderful! You know, if tricorders were available generally every single prospective parent would have one -- I was so anxious for so long, when we were trying to conceive. Day after day, resisting a call to the doctor because I wanted to know so badly but didn't want to harass my obstetrician." She laughed merrily and set the cup on the saucer, so she could reach for Deanna's hand. "I wish it would be possible to be neighbors. Our children could grow up together."

"Some day, we can be," Deanna said. She gripped Marie's fingers tightly. "Not yet. But some day."

"You are convinced that you should be in Starfleet," Marie said softly. "That must mean something is happening, that isn't in the news."

A fleeting expression of dismay only confirmed it, but Deanna recovered quickly. "We're not ready to retire yet, Marie. Starfleet is still too much a part of our lives. He'll know, when he's ready to step out, but he isn't there yet. And I'm not ready to retire either."

"And there is something but you cannot tell me," Marie said. "But I understand. Shall we talk about babies? I should hurry, if we intend to have same-aged playmates."

Deanna giggled at that. "Betazoids have a ten month gestation so you have a little more time. Have you decided about gender, or are you leaving it to chance?"

"I want a girl. I think I'll name her Hope. Espérance, in French."

"A wonderful name," Deanna said. 

Boot steps in the hall on the wood floor interrupted them. They turned as one as Natalia came to the open parlor door. She'd changed into a pantsuit, and had the bag she'd brought slung from her shoulder. "Commander, thanks for everything. I'm going to spend the rest of my leave with my mom."

"We'll see you on the _Enterprise_ then. Greet your mother for us," Deanna said. 

"I will. Thanks, Marie," Natalia said, waving and turning to go. After the front door closed behind her, Marie turned to Deanna.

"You and Jean-Luc are doing a fine job with that one."

Deanna's proud smile said she knew that. "And you did a fine job of helping us."

Another door opened and closed farther from them, and in a few moments Jean-Luc appeared, coming into the parlor to survey the situation. "I thought you were in the attic today?"

"We are having tea and discussing babies instead," Deanna said, looking up at him with a joyful light in her eyes and that particular sly smile she reserved just for her husband. 

Marie watched Jean-Luc's face as he approached the table -- when he was looking at Deanna, he didn't notice much else, so she didn't fear that he would notice her scrutiny and be embarrassed. The happiness and love for his wife was plain to see. Today he wore work clothes; he'd been helping the manager in the winery, probably cleaning out casks judging from the red stains on the brown trousers. She had cleaned enough wine stains out of clothing over the years, such that she felt relief that these stains were not hers to handle. He came and bent down to kiss Deanna's cheek.

"Will you join us? There's a cup for you," Marie said warmly.

His expression changed as he looked at her, but he was still happy. "Thank you, Marie. I believe I will." 

"But not until you change out of those pants," she added, flicking a hand at them. "Wine stains are difficult to remove from that couch."

He laughed and headed for the door again. "Yes, Ma'am!"

Deanna sipped her tea, grinning at the exchange. Marie nodded to herself and stood up. "I'll go put another kettle on. We'll need another pot for Earl Grey."

"Thank you, Marie."

While she was in the kitchen, after the kettle was on and a pale green pot ready and waiting for hot water, she glanced around, recalling the years she had spent here making meals for her family. Chiding Rene for running through with muddy shoes, or Robert for staining upholstery the color of the latest batch of Merlot. Deanna and Jean-Luc had upgraded the replicator and chosen new cabinetry, to be installed the following day. It was their home now. As gradual as the process had been, it was time to take the last steps away from her life here. There was a small home for sale not far from her sister's. It would be plenty of space for herself and a child.

When she returned with the steeping tea pot, Jean-Luc was sitting in the parlor wearing a clean pair of black pants and a spotless white shirt, and Deanna was speaking. "Hopefully Nat comes to some agreement with her mother before we leave orbit."

"She's borrowing a few books from us," Jean-Luc said. "I gave her recommendations. Thank you, Marie," he added, watching her sit down and pour a steaming cup of Earl Grey for him. She handed it across to him.

"Marie gave her some good advice as well." Deanna cast a sly look at Marie. "Did you tell him about your plans?"

"Not yet. I haven't even told my sister. But I think I have made the final decision to follow through, so I will tell Sofie tonight." Marie turned a happy smile on her former brother-in-law. "I've decided that I am going to have a child of my own. A little girl. I want her to have the Picard name as well, if you are comfortable with that, as I still very much feel that I am a Picard."

Jean-Luc scowled, the happy sort of grouchiness that was so familiar to her -- Robert had done the same so often and it gave her a twinge of sadness to see it. "Marie. You shouldn't even assume that I could possibly disapprove."

"I already have a name. Espérance Jeanette Picard."

His head came up, his eyebrows arched in surprise, and Deanna laughed joyfully. Jean-Luc joined her, then set aside his tea cup, stood, and held out his arms. When Marie rose to accept the hug, she found herself pulled into a waltz, as Jean-Luc led off across the floor into the hall. The brief dance ended with a kiss on each of her cheeks, and he escorted her back into the room. She went with him, stunned at the open and boisterous demonstration of affection from the man she had assumed to be so self-controlled that he found such a display embarrassing. Then she saw Deanna's face.

"Oh, _non_ , what is wrong?" Marie exclaimed in distress.

"Nothing, nothing," Deanna insisted, waving her hands and conveying exactly the opposite. "I -- I can't. I'm sorry." She rushed from the room.

Jean-Luc stood in the middle of the room unmoving. When Marie started after her, he caught Marie's arm. "Let her go," he said softly.

"But she's upset, Jean-Luc," Marie protested.

"She saw Maman twice. She was here when Maman died," he said. "She didn't spend much time with her, but she obviously loved Maman -- being an empath can be difficult."

"Oh," Marie cried. "Oh -- but she feels it, does she not? She felt her die? How terrible!" Her mind raced off with all the negative aspects of being able to sense emotion. She glanced at the couch. The same one upon which they had found Yvette's body, years ago, and subsequently reupholstered along with the chairs in the room.

"I think it was the dancing," Jean-Luc said sadly. "Maman apparently danced a little with her, when she was here."

Marie couldn't stand it another second. She went down the hall to the back of the house. Deanna's footfalls had headed that way. Opening the back door, Marie found Deanna standing outside next to the rose bush growing up the trellis against the house. She went down the steps and went to hold the young woman tightly. This time, Deanna didn't return the embrace.

"I'll make us some more tea," Marie said firmly.

Deanna pulled away slowly. Her tears had been brief. She didn't seem happy, but she wasn't crying. "Thank you. I'm better, honestly. I didn't expect that."

"There are still things that suddenly remind me of Rene, and I cry. I know how it is. Let's go back in."

Jean-Luc had returned to the couch and held his tea, looking up at them over the rim of the cup as they went to their chairs. His eyes followed Deanna, and after she had resettled and picked up her own cup, he said, "We'll have to desensitize that trigger before it's time to dance at our children's weddings," he said.

Marie was about to scold him for it, but Deanna started to giggle. "So pragmatic," she commented. Her eyes flicked to Marie. "He likes to repeat some of the things I used to say, when he was a client, only I'm certain I never told him anything like that before. He's far too aware of the symptoms of traumatic stress, I'm afraid."

"Aren't we all," Marie said with a sigh. 

"But we'll always have _espérance_ ," Deanna said, her sly grin returned. 

"We've come a long, long way on hope and faith," Jean-Luc added, oblivious to the joke. "We'll go many more parsecs before we are done."

"Hope, faith and love," Deanna said.

Marie couldn't think of a thing to add. She sipped tea. They followed suit, and after a long moment of silence, Deanna changed the subject. The conversation did not swerve from furniture and the house, babies and developmental stages, until it was time to decide what was for dinner.


	13. Chapter 13

Melissa Greenman was shaken from the reverie over her morning coffee by the sound of the front door. She froze, the cup halfway to her lips, listening.

"Mom?"

Ah, so that was it. Melissa left the kitchen table and the cup behind, hurrying through the living room and around to the front hall. Natalia was standing in the foyer in front of the door. She looked unhappy, as she had so often.

"Did something happen at the Picard place?" Melissa went forward and tried to hug her daughter. This time, instead of a stiff ensign, she received an embrace in return.

"I just wanted to come home."

Melissa withdrew and studied Nat's face. "Did something happen?" she repeated. Sometimes she was certain that something was going on that Nat refused to tell her.

"Nothing happened. I got a tour of the winery and I saw some of the French countryside, and the time difference was tough. I really like his sister in law Marie." Natalia dropped the bag on the tile floor. A couple of books slid out of it. Nat noticed her looking and shrugged. "The captain loaned me a few books." Kneeling, Natalia gathered up the books and picked up the bag again. "I'll go put this in my room."

"You seem to get along with him well," Melissa said, following her daughter down the hall.

"They're having kids," Natalia said, for no discernible reason. She dumped the bag on the single bed, turned, sat down with a bounce on the red bedspread. "Mom, do you want grandkids?"

That came out of nowhere and led to wondering what the Picards were talking about with her daughter. Melissa sat down on the end of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. "I guess I hadn't thought about that, but it would be nice. Why do you ask?"

"There's a lot of things -- I just wonder. What you expect. What you want me to do."

Melissa thought about the fear and worry of knowing her daughter was at the Academy, learning how to be an officer, in the aftermath of the Dominion War. "I guess that depends on what you want to do. I know there's no way to keep you home."

"Why were you mad at me?"

Melissa sighed, looking down at the floor for a few minutes while she came up with an answer. "I was. But I know you didn't intend...." Her daughter spoke of Troi as if she'd adopted the woman as a second parent -- the advice, the encouragement that Natalia had gotten from Troi that was so helpful in moving Natalia along emotionally, and then seeing Troi at the party the other day glancing at Natalia with sympathy.... Melissa didn't want to explain how upsetting it had been, listening to her daughter talk about how she enjoyed helping with cadet training and enjoying her first posting all because of the support from Troi. It felt petty and mean, to not be grateful that her daughter was getting all the help that Melissa had been unable to figure out how to give her.

But it also felt like failure.

Natalia started to take things out of her bag, probably uncomfortable with silence and inaction. She tossed the stack of books on the bedspread and started to take out clothing and other items. "I wish I could figure out how to take it all back."

That was a startling statement. "Take it all back?"

"I know how it's supposed to work. Things happen, we grieve, we get over it and learn from it." Natalia held up one of the books. "I read and I talk to the counselor, and it all sounds great. So why am I stuck feeling like I'm ten again, and I'm not just a weird kid, I'm a really weird kid who can't stop feeling like every word and every move I make is some kind of huge mistake?"

Melissa almost said what she'd said every time her daughter claimed she was weird. Her daughter wasn't weird. But Natalia was finally talking openly and this was different than the usual reassurance and avoidance pattern they'd been in. While she tried to fathom what to say, Natalia looked at the cover of the book she held.

"I read this last night," Natalia said. "It's about a little prince who travels the stars. He meets one self-absorbed person after another, until he finally meets a friend and learns to love and be loved. And I realized that's what I was keeping myself from doing, out of fear that I was going to keep being the weird kid. Even though I had the do-over I wanted, thinking there was something wrong with me kept me from realizing it. But it turned out that was okay, because I caught myself in time, and now I have friends. But it doesn't help me figure out how to walk it back so I can talk to you without feeling like we're just going to fight some more about what the problem really is."

Melissa almost groaned, almost said something, but bit her lip and looked down again at the carpet she'd chosen when she had redecorated this bedroom. She'd felt at the time that the carpet was important. But there were so many things that had stopped feeling so important, when things were strained with her daughter.

"You don't have to walk it back," Melissa said at last.

"Then what should I do? Quit Starfleet?" Nat's tone wasn't angry, at least. "I know you don't like that I'm still in it." In fact there had been times in the past year that she couldn't talk to her friends about it. Everyone assumed she was proud of her daughter. It felt like another failure, not being able to feel pride, while her friends lauded their family members' successes.

"Is that what you want?"

When Melissa looked up to see why the silence instead of a response, Nat was staring at her with an oddly-blank expression.

"I want to know how to be forgiven," Natalia said at length. "How to be on good terms with my own mother. I don't want to get to thirty and not remember what you look like because we just don't talk."

"Nat," Melissa began, but heard the pathos in her voice. Shaking her head, she clung to her resolution not to argue. "Why do you think we're on bad terms?"

"I'm not sure what else to call it when we can't talk about what's going on without arguing, or you just go silent and don't tell me why you're upset. We were spending time together," she exclaimed, starting to sound tearful. "We were doing great, I thought. And you just stopped talking, and I don't understand what I did wrong."

"Why are you so upset?"

Nat stared at her with a confused, startled look that caught Melissa off guard. "Because I don't know what to do! Because you're always upset about something and you won't tell me why. Because I thought you were better, at the wedding. Things were easy. We enjoyed ourselves. I don't know why my coming home has been so hard."

Melissa thought about confessing to feeling like a failure, generally, for the past few years particularly. About her wishing she hadn't had the fight with her husband before he left, and about the depression that had dogged her since his death. About the counseling she was still doing in an attempt to restart her life. She'd quit her job when Natalia had been assaulted, partly because she had been so overwhelmed she couldn't think straight, partly because her position in the hospital was demanding and she wanted to be home with her daughter. She thought about telling Nat about all the irrational guilt she'd felt that she hadn't protected her daughter, the anger at the repeated questions and the media attention, and the arguments with her husband about what to do to help their only child recover from her trauma.

But regurgitating all of her own trauma would probably be too much.

Melissa smiled, trying not to be tearful. "I'm having some difficulties that aren't related to you. I know you're working hard to advance your career. I didn't want to interfere or distract you with it. I'm getting some counseling and I'm also looking for a job, for the first time in a long time. And I was seeing someone for a while, but we ended it a few weeks before you came home."

That was alarming to Natalia. She seemed about to dissolve into tears, for a moment. But she shook her head once, sharp and exaggerated, and blinked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't sure what your reaction would be. And I really didn't want to talk about it. Sometimes I get really tired of even thinking about it." Melissa looked down again, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her thighs. She got up every morning and dressed as though she already had a job, part of her attempt to stave off depression. It worked sometimes.

"I guess I can understand that." Nat's smile was brief, and collapsed into concern again.

"I'm sorry that you thought it was your fault," Melissa said. She reached over to take Nat's hand. "I have an interview in the morning, but I was thinking -- that tour of the _Enterprise_ we didn't have, can we go do that tomorrow afternoon?"

Natalia nodded, rubbing her lips together and returning the grip on her hand. "Yeah. I can show you around."

"Good. As for today, I was thinking about running down to the market -- we could bake a pie." She loved the way the house smelled when she baked.

Finally, her daughter had a genuine smile, though it wavered slightly. "Yeah. Okay."

"I'm going to change into better shoes for walking. It's a beautiful day for a walk." Melissa stood and left Nat's room, heading for her own. Maybe it would still be difficult, but she hoped that Nat would continue to settle into her career. Whatever else was happening on the _Enterprise_ , the volatile, moody girl who had left for the Academy seemed to be stabilizing and becoming a young woman, and regardless of how she felt about any of it, that was all that really mattered. Her fears for Nat's safety were now less acute than her fears for her mental health.


	14. Chapter 14

Beverly reached for the glass of lemonade -- her third, since the start of the family dance off -- and drained the last few ounces. "I need water," she said, getting up from the chair.

The sister closest to her nodded and followed her from the room. Surprising that Chloe heard her, over the music. Tom was dancing with Cressida, Cat and Bronson were laughing and dancing, Ari and Briona had taken a turn together, and the rest were taking breaks. Beverly left the room, ignoring the slight soreness in her calves.

"You're keeping up pretty well," Chloe said, nudging Beverly with her elbow as they went down the hall together. "For someone complaining about being out of shape."

"I don't dance all the time. We met dancing at a wedding, it's been one of the constants for us, but only when we have the time." Beverly followed Chloe into the kitchen and went to the replicator, fed it the glass, and asked for cold water. When she turned around Chloe was standing there smiling at her.

"My brother isn't like this," she said.

Beverly frowned at her in bemusement. "Sorry?"

"You maybe don't know, because he probably wasn't the same after he met you. But I like this version of him a lot better. I hope it stays this way." Chloe hugged her, careful of the glass she held, and turned to the replicator. "Green tea, moderately sweet." She took the cup that materialized and left the kitchen.

Beverly stood there drinking her water, leaning against the counter near the replicator. After a little time had passed she heard footsteps, and Tom came in, grinning and enjoying himself. Sweat patches darkened the armpits of the blue shirt he wore and his hair was damp. He ran his fingers through it and came to stand in front of her.

"Everything okay, Sweet Cheeks?" Tom asked.

"Sure." Beverly handed him the rest of her water, and turned her head. "Glass of water, cold." She reached back for the glass as it appeared in the slot.

Tom drank some of the water and put the glass on the counter. His happy smile had diminished a lot. "What did she say?"

"I know you're making a lot of changes in your life," she said.

Tom's mouth had a sarcastic slant to it, and he shook his head. "And Chloe thinks it's great? Yeah. Cat was suspicious."

"That's a pretty drastic reaction."

Tom shrugged. "I know. But it's a drastic change. I told you."

Beverly couldn't articulate it just yet, but hearing his own sibling express how drastic the change had been led her to imagine what he'd actually been like.

"I almost warned you," he said. "I didn't know what would be said, by whom. But I'm not going to lie to you. I promised you that."

"Warn me that your sisters will be surprised, because you're not -- what?" Beverly rolled her eyes.

Tom raised his eyebrows and stood there, hands on his hips, no longer smiling. He shrugged again, at last. "I had an attitude problem. I wasn't happy."

"So simple as that?"

"In a nutshell. You can imagine what it's like to have nothing to look forward to except another dicey mission that I probably won't survive. It's a lot nicer to have people you care about and something to do when you're not on duty. Why I'm looking forward to the _Venture_."

Beverly stared at the man she'd fallen in love with. After another moment of tension, she took a deep breath. "You said you didn't come home very much."

Tom shook his head slowly. "I got along with the twins, we're closer in age. Not so much with Cat, until I got older. When I graduated and started my Starfleet career I called home a lot, things were better. But then -- you know." Probably he didn't want to say the words "Section 31" out loud in the house, in case one of his sisters overheard. "Once my soul was sold, it was harder and harder to come home. Cat would be angry, when I failed to show up for major family events. I missed her wedding because of a mission. Missed the birth of her daughter. I missed Mom's funeral. I wasn't here to help out when her husband died. I had to let her yell at me and not explain what was really going on. I had to let her hate me. I want to walk it back, but I still can't tell her a damn thing. And yeah, I was an ass, dismissive and joking around about things, because that was part of the cover. So I deserve the suspicion."

He started to sound regretful, by the end. Beverly swallowed, feeling less of the nausea that had started to take hold. "What did you tell her to let you show up here today?"

"I called her when I got the news about the _Venture_. Told her I would be on Earth, apologized for past shameful behavior. She gave me the chance when I told her I wanted to bring you."

Beverly nodded. He wasn't doing anything that suggested falsehood; steady eye contact, calm, matter-of-fact. "Do you want to stay for dinner?"

"I'm up for it if you are. It would go a long way to getting back in Cat's good graces."

"Then we'd better go win the contest. Only one dance left." She put the glass on the counter and headed for the door.


	15. Chapter 15

Jean-Luc came down from the attic with a crate. He avoided the parlor by habit -- Maman had diligently protected it from mud and dirt for years -- and instead went to the breakfast table in the kitchen, also avoiding the formal dining room. After the small crate sat on the table it occurred to him that he could have gone to the front porch, but dust had already powdered the tabletop.

"Jean?"

He turned as she came in behind him. She already wore her uniform, as they were about to return to the ship. He smiled, pried the lid from the crate, and reached in. The first object he recognized was a small toy -- he held it up, a pale blue ball on a short wand. When he waggled it back and forth in his fingers it rattled.

"Was that yours?" She took it when he offered it, looking at the contents of the crate. "Baby things?"

"They were in the attic. I was looking for the models I used to build."

Deanna took out a few other things, turning them over in her hands and setting them aside on the table. A bib, a green outfit that snapped down the front, another rattle shaped like a duck that quacked instead of rattling when shook. There was a small album under them. She picked it up and opened the cover, and smiled fondly. The first picture was of Yvette, holding a baby with a young boy in attendance.

"Beverly showed me Wes' baby book once."

"I didn't know I had one." Jean-Luc frowned as she paged through. Pictures of a naked baby, in various poses. Pictures of a swaddled sleeping baby. Obviously him, as the toddler Robert was in some of them.

"I guess you won't want to put this out for public viewing." Deanna put it back in the crate. "I don't see Robert's in there, maybe that's a separate box. If these are all your toys we should take a few for Yves."

Jean-Luc held up a ring of large brightly-colored beads. "I plan to make a few things for the nursery."

Deanna turned to him with surprised eyes. "Like what?"

"I thought a rocking chair, and a crib. The crib upstairs is in poor repair. I have some ideas about a design."

Deanna beamed at him and started putting things back in the crate. "I would like that. I may have a few ideas myself. Are you changing before we go?"

"We're beaming up in the middle of ship's night, with most of the crew on leave. I'll take a shower and change when we get there."

"Or maybe you just take off the dusty shirt and the dirty slacks?" She had a sly look that told him what would happen when he did.

He hummed and put the lid on. "Anything else you want to beam up?"

"Since we're going to be in orbit for another five days, I expect to be back and forth a few more times."

He carried the crate outside, waited while she contacted the ship, and exchanged a smile as they dematerialized. The transporter room coalesced around them seconds later, then they were facing a surprised ensign. "Thank you, Ensign," he said, stepping off to lead the way to their quarters.

When the lift dropped them off on deck four, Deanna followed him down the corridor. "What did you do?" she asked in an accusing tone. "This isn't the right deck."

"We're married. That means we have a larger space allotment than before. I made arrangements before we left on leave. Here we are," he said, reaching section two, cabin one.

The interior was standard issue with all of their things already in place. The digital frame over the sofa was on a picture from the wedding, one of their friends laughing with drinks. Jean-Luc put the box down on the floor near the end of the couch, started to take off the shirt and went in the bedroom.

"Computer, are there any urgent messages for me?" Deanna asked as she followed him.

"There are no messages marked urgent. There are three messages flagged operations, two messages flagged security, six messages flagged private."

Jean-Luc turned from the closet, eyebrow raised. "How organized."

"A well-programmed subroutine is your friend." Deanna turned around. "I'm going to the bridge to check on things while you decide what we're going to do next, since it's ship's night and we're not tired."

He had showered and put on clean clothing, not a uniform, by the time she returned. As she came in the door he was picking up the box of baby things. "We should have a look at the nursery," he said.

It was a door on the other end of the living room, and when they walked through it, the room was empty. He hadn't specified furniture or decoration because of course Deanna would want to choose decorations. He dropped the crate on the floor in the corner. Deanna walked the length of the room to the other door. "What's through here?"

"Another room. I thought it might be helpful to have a separate space. I would imagine there will be times when another room will be needed. We can't be on duty continuously for two and a half days and leave the baby here. Someone will have to be with him. And having someone stay here will be better than moving the baby into a space that's strange to him."

She nodded, coming to a halt in the center of the room. "So the few days we have left, we'll do some research, a little shopping, and start to plan what we need for the nursery?"

"Unless you have other ideas? I already ordered some oak. It was hard to find as there aren't so many lumber mills any more."

She smiled happily. It was good to see her without stress. Slowly she approached him and reached up to put her arms around his neck. "We have ten months to implement it. Why hurry?"

"Because it's exciting?"

"It is. We should sit and look through catalogs. I just happen to have some."

"Has it happened yet?" He meant implantation of the zygote. She had been checking, though not always keeping him informed.

Deanna rested her chin on his shoulder. "It has," she said softly.

Jean-Luc held his wife, smiling and thinking about days to come. The bond was palpable and alive with joy, his and hers. They eventually stood back from each other and headed back to the living room, and finally it occurred to him to ask, "How is the refit coming along?"

"It's almost completed. Tomorrow we receive a full complement of munitions, review transfers both coming and going, and I'll run through a list of incoming cadets. And Marie arrives for her tour midday."

"Excellent." Marie would be bringing her sister and the girls. He would be able to take them around the ship without the crew looking on. 

Life was good.


	16. Chapter 16

Beverly lay on the bed staring at the green ceiling, wondering. The Glendenning house was quiet, now that all the sisters were gone. She heard the distant slam of a door, and then the bedroom door opened. "I talked to Data," Tom said, coming over to sit on the bed. He pulled off his boots and swung his legs up to lie in the bed on the quilt with her, bouncing and wiggling into a comfortable position on his side facing her. "We're good."

He'd been checking in from time to time all along, and the launch continued as expected, on schedule -- just two more months. Beverly remembered the waiting, before the latest incarnation of the _Enterprise_ was launched. That final few months with everyone coming back from the projects and vacations, finding their way to San Francisco and spending time together while the final touches were put in place. She'd gone shopping with Deanna and spent time with the rest of the senior staff -- even had High Tea at a tea house with Jean-Luc. There had been so many wonderful moments with all her friends. While the two ships were in orbit they would get together again, but this time, the _Enterprise_ would be going their way and leaving her here. And this leave was all about getting to know Tom. So far, the only real glitch had been his eldest sister's attitude.

"So what do you want to do with the next day or so?" she asked. It was how they were moving through leave, one day at a time. 

Tom gestured with his fingers in the air, as he often did while talking. "Whatever you want, Sweet Cheeks."

"I'd like to talk to you about a few things before we decide to move on to the next destination."

He dropped the comedic grin and sat up, sliding back to brace his back against the headboard. He'd learned early that she didn't appreciate the flippant jokes when talking about serious things. She pushed herself up as well, appreciating that he wasn't trying to deflect or distract.

"I wanted to know if there will be other situations," she said. "Times that we might walk into a place and you're treated with the same level of suspicion Catriona had."

He wasn't surprised. She'd expected a shrug, perhaps some sheepishness. But instead, his bright blue eyes were sad. "None that I can predict. I knew this would be tough. But I also knew that pushing people away isn't what I want to do anymore. I'm done with that."

"But if they threaten your sisters?"

His eyes changed, went glassy and hard, and his upper lip curled slightly at the thought. "I've been doing some thinking about that."

"It's hard to see how you can outmaneuver them." Beverly knew that Section 31 operated within Starfleet, understood there was very little anyone could do if they decided someone was a risk to the Federation. Nothing would stop them, as most Starfleet flag ranked officers were dismissive of their existence and handled any incident as a simple crime committed by an individual.

"Yeah, I don't think I need to outmaneuver them any more. Just have contingency plans and stop living in fear of them."

Beverly let her head fall against the headboard as she closed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?" she asked wearily.

"I'm going to be an officer, and not an agent. Do my best to stay standard issue and boring. Not make any moves they could misinterpret as revealing them or threatening them."

She pressed her lips together for a few seconds. "And if they come after me?"

Silence. When she turned to look at him, she saw he was watching her with an angry expression. "If they come after you, they lose."

She froze, at the rage in his eyes. For a few seconds it terrified her. Then she inhaled sharply. This wasn't anger directed toward her; she'd seen hints of it before, when he talked about this. "Lose," she echoed, not quite believing it.

His nostrils flared, and he looked down at his hands resting on his thighs. He'd changed, into a pair of clean black pants and a green short-sleeved shirt. After the dancing they'd eaten dinner with his family, and said their good-byes one by one as each sister departed. Arrangements had been made to take Tom's family tour the ship in two days, after the flooring was finished. She'd seen a happy and carefree version of everyone today once Catriona had gotten past her initial suspicion.

"I don't think they'll bother me and if I don't do anything to upset them, or endanger the Federation, they'll have no reason to come after you." He met her eyes again, turning his head slightly. "But I'll destroy them if they lay a hand on you. And I think they know I can."

She wanted to ask how that could be possible, but his even, confident tone held such menace that she believed him.

She knew he was dangerous. She'd known it when he'd told her about his involvement in Section 31. She could see it in moments like this, when he expressed the rage he had against them. It made sense to her that he resented the twists and turns of his life that led to years of rough living and loneliness, being their puppet. It was still a little upsetting to see him so angry.

Beverly nodded, glancing away at the single window that overlooked the greenhouses. All those roses. They'd gone walking among them, after his family left. The ones he had picked for her were in a vase on the night table on her side of the bed. Big red blossoms with perfect petals, on the verge of opening. She reached to run a fingertip along a petal's edge. They were a bright spot in the room. The walls were dark green, and there were some bland prints of various artworks on the walls; apparently the sisters had stored all of Tom's old things and made this a guest room, but he had described having his guitar, prints of ship schematics, and other paraphernalia in the room. They'd showed her some old pictures of him. He'd been tall, gangly, happy -- athletic and young and carefree. Incredibly good looking.

"If you decide you don't want to be with me, that's fine," Tom said softly.

She turned her head with a jerk to look at him again. "I didn't say that. I'm worried about you."

He snorted, as if he couldn't believe that, but after a moment his expression softened to that fondness he usually had for her. "You don't need to worry about me, hon."

"Okay. How about -- I'm worried about losing you because I'll miss your smile, and your singing, and the way you kiss me every morning?"

Tom's lazy grin came back. "And my fine ass?"

"And your fine ass." Beverly smiled at his saucy tone. It sounded like things were back to normal. Swagger and bluster, and grin like the crazy man he could be. And once they started to touch each other, he could be focused and intense, and very attentive to her. He was the least complicated person in her life, and yet he was her biggest complication. And she loved him anyway.

"I was thinking it might be nice to see you by the light of the moon," Tom said, taking her hand. He had to reach over to pick it up from her thigh, so his fingertips brushed her skirt.

"It's the new moon here, though, isn't it?"

"Oh, there's a full moon somewhere in the world. We can find it."

Beverly hummed a little. "You don't want to spend the night here?"

"My old room isn't exactly the romantic getaway of a lifetime."

"All rooms are the same with the lights out. Especially if you distract me."

Tom chuckled and rolled toward her again, inching ever closer, and she leaned in to kiss him. There was no hesitation or insecurity in the way he kissed her. He wasn't shy about his body, though he had scars across his back and down his right thigh. She played with the collar of his shirt while his tongue explored her mouth. His hand glided down her ribs, over her hip, coming to a stop on her thigh as he moved over her. 

"I love you, Tom," she murmured as he rose on his knees to pull off his shirt. She touched the ropy scar across his torso, just above his navel.

He grinned, flinging aside the shirt, and looked every bit the rogue he was with his tousled blonde hair and his bright-eyed enthusiasm. "I love you, Beverly."

She smiled, reaching down to shove her pants down her hips. "Come here."

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, unbuckling his belt.


	17. Chapter 17

"Engineering," Natalia said, as she entered the turbolift. Her mother watched the indicator above the control panel, something Natalia had noticed people who were new to turbolifts did; she'd done it herself until riding in them became a habit.

"This is a big ship," Mom commented. "Much bigger than the one your father was on." They'd been to her quarters first, then sickbay and astrometrics. She intended to take Mom to the bridge last.

"Yeah. It takes a while to get where you're going." Natalia stepped forward just a few seconds in advance of the lift coming to a full stop. As the door opened her foot passed through, and she preceded her mother into the corridor. 

"There don't seem to be many people around," Mom said as they entered engineering a moment later.

"I think the refit crew finished in main engineering last week, and moved on to the EPS conduits and relays in the rest of the ship, so we'll have a skeleton crew and most everyone is on leave." Natalia stopped in the middle of the room. It was cavernous and echoing, without people manning stations. The lights came up as they entered, and still it was unusually dim; without the warp core engaged the room seemed lifeless. "I spent the first few months aboard on a split shift, half the day here, and part of beta shift in security. They wanted those of us with minimal experience to observe and learn in all departments. Most of the time I was monitoring different parts of the power systems."

Mom joined her, and looked up, and up, at the warp core. "Are you changing your mind and wanting to be an engineer?"

"No. But you have to know how this all works, when you're in command. At least the basics."

"Command," Mom echoed. She crossed her arms, her eyes grew distant, but she didn't seem angry or even sad. "You know, I've been thinking about something your father said once. It was probably something Telemachus told him. We were arguing about his accepting the position on the _Xerxes_. He said that the only way to win is to try, and the guaranteed way to lose is to do nothing."

"Yeah, that sounds like Telemachus." Natalia wondered what was bringing this up now.

"I've been thinking about what I said before about not wanting you to be in Starfleet, and about the way things have been since the war. About what friends have been saying. A lot of us have family in Starfleet." Mom walked a few paces closer to the warp core and kept staring up at it. "It's becoming obvious that it doesn't matter what I think. There's something on the horizon. No one seems to be able to articulate what it is. We're all a long way from the days when Starfleet just did what it does and no one pays attention. Now we're all watching what's said, and what isn't said, about Starfleet activities, with a lot more awareness. And while you were at Occalo's the other day, your captain and your first officer were asked directly by Telemachus, and deflected. Is there another war on the way?"

"I don't know, Mom. I hear things too, but I'm not a captain yet," Natalia said. "I don't even know what our orders will be when this refit is done. So... are you saying you see why I'm not quitting?" It would be a shock if she did. Mom had been worried mostly about her safety.

"It seems to me that if Jean-Luc isn't retiring to have his children that there must be something left for him to do. It says that he needs people to help him do it. And it occurs to me that regardless of where you are, anything could happen -- what happened when you were ten didn't require you to even leave our neighborhood, after all," Mom said. She inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly, and finally looked at Natalia. "And if you have to be in Starfleet at least you are serving with someone who has a proven history of surviving against the odds."

Natalia couldn't help the amused smile. "Okay."

Mom was smiling too, now. She rolled her eyes. "I know. You didn't expect to hear that from me. But like I said, I've been working on things myself."

The large doors opened noisily, and the last thing Natalia expected happened -- a small child in a cute pink dress hurtled into the room, joyously laughing and charging along with abandon. "Gigi," Natalia exclaimed.

The girl squealed and changed course, veering to the right away from them. Behind her the door opened again and the captain hurried in. "Well, hello," he exclaimed, upon seeing Natalia and her mother. He followed after Gigi while he spoke. "On your own tour, I see."

Mom watched the captain recover the giggling, squealing toddler from under the EPS regulation console. He swung her up to hold her with practiced ease and approached them, letting Gigi cling to the shoulder of his uniform. "I know you mentioned at the party that you were intending to have children, but somehow you have one already?" Mom asked.

"Giselle is my sister-in-law's niece," the captain explained. He turned as the door sighed open once more, admitting Commander Troi, an older child, and two women in dresses, all of them smiling. "She was only wanting to get here first so she could start a level one diagnostic."

"Efficient. Why go to the Academy and get a promotion first?" The commander came to offer a hand, which Mom took. "Hello, Melissa. Good to see you again."

"I didn't expect to see you here. Aren't you vacationing?" Mom grinned at her, looking up and down at the uniform Commander Troi was wearing.

"We are, however, there were still a few meetings to attend." The commander turned, gesturing at her companions. "This is Marie Picard and her sister, Sofia Bisset. And you've meet Esme and Gigi of course."

Natalia smiled. "Of course," she said. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that her mother was suddenly wide-eyed and staring at her. Mom recovered from it quickly, put on another smile, and Natalia moved on without comment. "This is my mother, Melanie Greenman."

Marie came forward and held out a hand. When Mom took it, instead of a hand shake, Marie brought her other hand up to cover it. "It's good to meet you, Mrs. Greenman." She was so warm and enthusiastic that Natalia was taken aback.

Natalia watched her mother blink in surprise, but before she could respond, the older girl distracted them by dashing over and tugging at the skirt of Marie's pale blue dress. " _Tante_ ," she whispered.

"Esme, what is it?" Marie said patiently.

Esme smiled shyly at Natalia. "Can I play with Natalia?" she murmured. The little girl was the older version of Gigi, sweet and easygoing, though a little shy. Both girls 

"Esme and I played a few games while I was staying with them," Natalia said to her mother by way of explanation. "She's really good at hide and seek. Sounds like we might like to visit the holodeck next?" She grinned at Esme, glanced at the captain, then at the commander.

"Unless we would like a technical explanation of warp engines, a sound choice," the captain said. He put Gigi on her feet and led off, since no one requested that they linger in engineering. Sofia called her daughters to her, and they went without a fuss, each taking one of their mother's hands. Natalia watched the family, all smiles and giggles, as they followed the captain. Commander Troi tucked her arm through Marie's and followed them, leaving the Greenmans to come along after. 

Getting everyone in a single turbolift car wasn't possible, so Deanna took Sofie and the children ahead of them, leaving Natalia with her mother, the captain, and Marie. Another car arrived within minutes. "This is an amazing vessel, Jean-Luc," Mom said as they moved inside. "It's nothing like the ones I have toured -- friends in Starfleet sometimes invited me along. But that was all before the war, of course."

"The Sovereign class was designed with the war in mind," the captain said. He'd lost the smile. Then he turned his head to look at Marie, which brought to Natalia's attention that she was crying.

"Marie?" Natalia exclaimed, immediately worried.

"It's no matter," Marie said at once, waving away their concern. "I was just thinking about how much Rene would have enjoyed this."

Natalia noticed her mother's confusion. "Her son." She stopped herself, not wanting to explain further out of consideration for Marie.

"He died in a horrible accident," Marie said, surprisingly calm. She touched the captain's arm as the lift stopped with a lurch. 

"Ensign, remind me to have engineering have a look at the turbolifts -- there's something amiss with them," he said. "Come along, Marie."

The door opened and he put an arm around Marie, guiding her out. Natalia followed, a little startled by her mother suddenly taking her arm. They strode out into the well-lit corridor. Natalia smiled at her, wondering what she was thinking.

"Do you want to go with them, or just go on with our own thing? Maybe we shouldn't butt into their tour," Natalia said.

"Maybe you're right. Let's let them know."

But as they approached the group chatting at the door of holodeck four, Esme and Gigi ran over to grab Natalia's hands. "Come on," Esme cried. 

"I guess we're going in," Mom said with a light tone she hadn't had in a while. "So what are we doing in this holodeck?"

"I'm getting the feeling it's not a matter of preference for us," Natalia said as the kids dragged her forward. "Sir?"

The captain was amused as she was guided past him. Marie and Commander Troi were laughing. Sofia, who had her arm around her sister as if she'd been comforting Marie, said something in French, and Esme responded in the same with a carefree laugh as she pulled Natalia over the threshhold into the holodeck. 

"Do you know how these things work?"

"We go to the holo-theater in town sometimes," Esme exclaimed. Letting go of Natalia's hand, she bounced upward and yelled, "COMPUTER! I want TREEVUS AND FLOTTER!"

Natalia gaped at the choice in mock horror, as the holodeck responded by making the forest materialize around them. "OH NO! ANYTHING BUT THAT!"

Gigi squealed for joy, as Flotter rained down into being in front of them and bowed with a flourish. Esme bolted forward and tackled the character, sending both of them falling and rolling on the forest floor.

"What is this?" the captain asked, mildly perturbed. 

"Perhaps this is a better idea than we thought," the commander said. "A familiarity with children's holodeck programs might be helpful for you."

Natalia turned to look at her mother, who unexpectedly started to laugh out loud -- the first time since Natalia had come home. It prompted Natalia to laugh with her, then she thought with a jolt that this was at the captain's expense and glanced at him with her heart in her throat. 

But the captain wasn't paying attention. He was watching the kids, who were talking and laughing with Flotter and now Treevus, the tree man who spend most of the time antagonizing then befriending Flotter, as that was the whole reason for the program, teaching kids social skills. 

"I remember when you were obsessed with Karrots," Mom said, still giggling. 

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me," Natalia said, blushing. Captain Karrots was a rabbit in charge of a sailing ship crewed by other forest creatures. Definitely something she'd outgrown by age eight.

"Do you remember similar things you read or played with, when you were a boy?" Marie asked the captain. 

"Of course, but nothing on a holodeck. And nothing like this," he said, gesturing at the characters dancing around the girls. 

"A lot to think about," Commander Troi said. She smiled at Natalia. "So many details involved in having children. So many choices. Babysitters, diet...." She crossed her arms, sidled over to stand next to the captain and nudged him with an elbow. "I think Natalia would make a good babysitter."

"She would," Mom exclaimed, shooting a smile at Natalia. "She's always been good with children. She was babysitting younger children in our neighborhood when she was fifteen."

"Then that sounds like an easier decision," the captain said, looking to the commander for consensus.

"I thought as much, myself." Deanna smiled fondly at Natalia. 

"This looks much more real than the holo-theater in Labarre, doesn't it?" Sofia said. She reached out and picked a flower. "How you can interact with things -- I couldn't touch the holograms in the public holodecks this way."

"The technology on your ship is amazing," Marie commented, taking the flower when Sofia offered it to her.

"It makes sense. Being out for months and years in space, this would be a wonderful way to 'return home,' wouldn't it?" Sofia said. "Do you have a program that includes the vineyard?"

"We brought a holo-camera to the estate for that purpose," Deanna said. "To update our holodeck version of the home. And I'll have to take it to Betazed the next time we go."

"I've never been to Betazed, what's it like?" Natalia asked.

The commander glanced around. "Nothing like Earth. If the girls don't mind we could run one of the basic simulations of some of the sights there."

Sofia went after her daughters. Marie turned a radiant smile on Deanna. "This is exciting, I've never left Earth."

"Neither have I, other than that one trip to Risa," Mom said. She tilted her head and studied Natalia. "How would you feel if I came along with you for a while? You can have family with you, right?"

"I wouldn't mind, except I'm not sure where we're going next -- if it's going to be a mission that puts the ship at risk or something?" Natalia turned to the captain, hoping he would put a stop to that idea.

"There will always be a risk. That would be a choice for the two of you to make," he said. But he was looking at Mom when he said it. "You would certainly have more insight into what Natalia's been doing, if you did spend time with us. And I do know our next mission, it will in fact require us to be ready for anything, including battle."

"Oh." 

Mom was smiling, which was odd -- Natalia had expected a different reaction. "I'll think about it."

Sofia returned with the kids then, and the conversation returned to the changing of the holodeck program to sight-see on Betazed. So it gave Natalia opportunity to think about, and worry about, the outcome of her mother's consideration. 

This was definitely going down as one of the least expected outcomes of taking leave....


	18. Chapter 18

Deanna rose as the fleet admiral emerged from the ready room. Nechayev was smiling, so the meeting had clearly gone well. The _Enterprise_ would be departing in six hours, and the fleet admiral had come aboard for one last visit. Probably to remind them once again to behave themselves, Deanna thought, forcing a pleasant smile.

Jean-Luc was right behind the admiral, and as they reached the center of the bridge, he said, "The commander will escort you to the transporter room."

"Aye, sir," Deanna responded, surprised. She'd expected him to do it himself, to see the admiral off. She stepped away from the captain's chair as he approached to claim it. They were ready to depart, as soon as the last minute arrivals came aboard and the last minute transfers left. The crew was all aboard and checked in, the last of the repair teams had disembarked, and the bridge crew were accounted for and at their stations. Mr. Carlisle sat at operations, Ensign Dermott at the helm, deLio stood at tactical, and Counselor Davidson was seated to the right of the captain as he took his place.

Deanna followed the admiral up to the turbolift and asked the computer for transporter room one as they entered. She faced front and stood at attention as the lift started to move.

"I hope you enjoyed your leave," Nechayev said in a more pleasant tone than Deanna had ever heard from her.

"I did indeed. It was wonderful to have the time to explore Earth more than I have before," Deanna replied in kind. "I particularly enjoyed Paris."

Nechayev nodded. "It may be some time before the _Enterprise_ will be able to return, so I'm glad to hear it. There is a lot to be done. You'll no doubt be in a briefing about it soon, so I won't go into great detail, but I will say that I'm confident that the _Enterprise_ is the best ship to lead the effort in addressing the upcoming challenges that Starfleet will face in the Beta Quadrant. And I wanted to remind you that if you have any concerns or suspicions, I'm encouraging you to contact me directly." She turned her blue eyes to meet Deanna's, as the lift car shifted directions to move horizontally. "Do you understand my intent?"

"This would be concerning the captain, specifically?" She couldn't imagine what else would warrant going over her commanding officer's head that way. It was a peculiar request.

"Or regarding another captain, or a flag officer," Nechayev said quietly. "If you have suspicions that orders are ignored or sidestepped."

So it was about Section 31. Deanna pressed her lips together briefly to avoid a frown. "Yes, sir."

"Captain Picard is generally objective, but your unique situation requires that I provide an additional and specific provision of latitude, I think," the fleet admiral went on, facing forward again. The car returned to the vertical axis and traveled downward again. "And you will be in a unique position to observe command rank and flag rank officers in the near future. We want to work together and within regulations, from now forward. Do you agree?"

"Of course. But I find myself uneasy at being expected to police superior officers."

Nechayev turned to her again, and regarded her with an expression that suggested disapproval, but Deanna could sense that it was merely frustration. "I did not ask you to apprehend or question, merely to observe and report anything unusual."

"I will follow orders, Admiral. But you'll have to define unusual -- this is Starfleet, after all, and we seem to find many different varieties of unusual as a matter of course."

"Hold turbolift." The car stopped smoothly. Nechayev looked at the floor, arms crossed, collecting herself. The admiral's composure rivaled Jean-Luc's. She contained the frustration well. Finally, she looked at Deanna again. "We share the same concerns regarding the Section. I would like to be apprised of anything you believe to be related to that agency's activities."

"Do you believe they are attempting to kill Captain Picard?"

That led to a long pause, during which the admiral recovered from shock. Whether due to the suggestion itself, or Deanna's guessing that it might be so, Deanna couldn't tell. "Do you see anything that supports that theory?"

"It occurred to me that there might be a _quid pro quo_ with the Romulan Empire. That certain agents within the Empire with an interest in revenge might be working with the Section, and the captain is their price for cooperation. A reach, but there have been multiple occasions now that indicate Romulan agents are pursuing him, and with each near miss I have to wonder at how they are able to manage these efforts. For a Romulan agent to impersonate a Vulcan archaeologist, travel within Federation space to a planet with nothing other than the captain that might interest Romulans, and nearly succeed either suggests that Romulan spies have been more successful in general, or he had assistance from someone in high places within the Federation."

The admiral's stern expression hardened at that explanation. For a moment Deanna thought she might leave the ship without further explanation. But she finally relaxed somewhat. "That has crossed my mind."

"It may also be that the Section wishes to see a complete turnover of starship captains, if the older idealists might be an impediment to the kind of fleet they intend to create in the wake of the war. So it would be easy for them to justify turning over a single man who might also stand in the way of mounting a more aggressive defense of the Federation than before."

Now the fleet admiral smiled in approval and amusement. "You have been thinking hard about this."

"I have been thinking about and observing the recovery from the Dominion War, and my own homeworld's reactions to the destruction we suffered. Thinking about what desperation and fear do to people. Safety was an assumption, on Federation worlds. It ceased, and now the assumption of it is not returning no matter the reassurances. People want proof. That kind of environment will make it easier to justify measures that wouldn't have been popular before."

Nechayev's amusement faded rapidly. "So we are in agreement. We need people we can trust, Commander. I believe I can trust you to stick to regulations and ethics. So my request stands."

"I'll do my best, Admiral. You have my word."

"Resume." Nechayev faced forward again, taking in a long breath and exhaling in relief.

When they reached the transporter room, a couple of people were coming out; the lieutenant and ensign came to attention and waited as they passed, Deanna giving them a nod of approval as she followed the admiral inside. deVin, the L'norim transporter chief, stood at the console. 

"Good bye, Admiral," Deanna said with her polite professional smile in place. 

"Thank you, Commander. I will speak with you again soon." Nechayev stepped up to the platform and stood, hands behind her back, while deVin initiated her return to Starfleet Command. When she was gone, the lieutenant nodded, confirming completion of transport. 

Deanna was about to go when a tone emanated from the console and deVin said, "The bridge received and granted a request to transport from  Venture.  Captain Glendenning, sir."

"I'll wait for him, then." 

Tom materialized moments later, standing upright and grinning like he usually did when she saw him. He stepped down and held out his arms. Instead of playing along, she turned for the door, and he came with her. 

"The uniform seems to make you less affectionate," he commented, teasing her.

"Not in front of the L'norim, Tom."

His chuckle said he could easily read her deadpan reply for what it was. "Okay, hon. Everything ready to go? Just a few hours now til you leave McKinley and head off to adventure."

"Almost -- we have a few crew yet to come aboard, and engineering is restarting the warp engines the slow way. Where's Beverly?"

Tom shrugged and waved a hand. "My sweet doctor is in full sickbay mode, getting all the weapons of her trade organized and tucked away in cabinets. She kicked me into the corridor so I thought I'd see what mischief I could find here."

"If you called her instruments 'weapons' I can see why she lost patience."

They entered the turbolift, facing forward as she asked for the bridge. Deanna glanced up at Tom, wondering if the relationship with Beverly would have any staying power. She'd been wondering since the wedding. Neither Tom nor Beverly showed any signs of waivering, and the conversation with Beverly yesterday had informed Deanna that her friend had in fact moved in with Tom already.

"I was in the transporter room seeing off the fleet admiral, so don't think you're special," she said, in the same tone he took when teasing her.

He smirked, amused and enjoying the tease, though there was a twinge of concern -- not ire, as the fleet admiral generally felt at the mention of Tom. Deanna had yet to figure out what it was that either of the two had against the other. Tom wouldn't talk about the fleet admiral beyond the occasional joke about how stiff and formal she generally was.

"Good ol' Nechayev, micro-managing like a pro," he said, holding true to form.

"At least she isn't letting herself sell out to certain agents of mythical allegiances. I find myself second-guessing a lot, these days."

Tom looked up at the ceiling, a sure sign he was uncomfortable but accepting the topic as necessary. He'd gone against his training each time they'd discussed Section 31, she was certain. There had to be dire consequences to keep agents from talking. "I understand completely."

"We have a lot of work to do, judging from what I've reviewed so far about our next mission. Do you know what your first mission will be? I find myself hoping you'll be able to come help us if we need it."

"Well... given that it's you, Picard and the  Enterprise  we're talking about, it must be a real humdinger of a mission for you to already guess you'll need another Soveriegn class ship as a backup."

"And I'm assuming you'll have your own 'humdinger,' whatever that means," Deanna said as the lift halted and the door opened. Tom followed her down the bridge. She paused, noting Ward Carlisle had the conn, and turned left to signal for entry to the ready room.

When they went in, Jean-Luc was already seated on his sofa, just inside the door. He looked up, his cup of tea almost to his lips.

"Hey," Tom said, as he settled in the chair facing the sofa. Deanna sat on the end of the sofa nearest the door, reaching for the cups.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

It was the sort of thing Jean-Luc would say to visitors whose presence he did not find objectionable. He wasn't particularly overtly affectionate with anyone, actually. But Tom reacted to it by feeling as he had when Deanna teased him, a blend of satisfaction, appreciation and affection that suggested to her that Tom had been through many years of loneliness. He reacted to approval as she imagined a hungry man would react to food.

"Just thought I'd stop in before you shipped out, to say good-bye. Congratulate you too -- Beverly said something about successfully starting a family."

Jean-Luc contained his surge of ire, with only a slight clench of the jaw. He did not appreciate private business discussed openly, and as friendly as he'd been with Tom, the other captain was not yet someone he considered a close friend. Deanna didn't doubt that the only reason he didn't snap at Tom now had to do with Beverly. 

"We'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about that," Deanna said gently. She met his eyes, hoping he heard the hint of warning and stopped there. Teasing Jean-Luc about fatherhood wouldn't end well if he tried. Tom was usually pretty smart about choosing when and how to make his jokes, though.

She saw understanding in his blue eyes. It went away quickly, as his smile warmed his expression. "Oh, you know I can keep it to myself. Verly swore me to secrecy. So I'll wait for a few months to start buying gifts for the baby shower."

Deanna sighed. There were parts of human tradition that made little sense to her. Malia had put together a bridal shower with some of the other women aboard, leading to a discussion of traditions over gifts wrapped in pink paper and drinks with umbrellas in them. 

"You don't want a baby shower? Good to know," Tom said.

Deanna realized her dismay must have shown in her face. "We don't have ceremonies like showers on Betazed. Gifts aren't required. Malia surprised me with a bridal shower, but I intend to tell her that I do not want one for the baby."

The assertion had an unexpected effect on Jean-Luc. He didn't stop sipping Earl Grey, but she knew the instant his anxiety started, and it coincided with her statement.

"Just a big birthday party on the day he's born?" Tom's smile was less over the top than usual. This was the new Tom, who could actually be sweet, instead of a clownish caricature. She didn't doubt Beverly was directly responsible for that. 

"Or when I've recovered from giving birth?" Deanna picked up her cup of chamomile, leaning back against the sofa. 

The chirp from Tom's badge interrupted, followed by Data's voice. "Data to Glendenning."

"What's up?" Tom asked. 

"Admiral Nechayev is requesting your presence on the  Venture."

" All right - I'll be back in a minute. Glendenning out." Tom stood up, holding his arms open wide as if to say 'what can we do?' But Deanna could sense the anticipatory dread he felt. "Call me if you need me, my friends. Fare thee well, godspeed, and all other appropriate colloquialisms -- we'll talk soon." He turned and hustled out the door.

After he was gone, Deanna leaned to kiss her husband's cheek. "I should review the final reports from each department, before the briefing." They had a senior staff briefing in two hours. 

"We haven't talked about rituals other than the wedding on Betazed." Voicing the concern as usual led to genuine, full-blown worry. 

"If you mean Betazoid rituals related to babies and giving birth, there aren't any -- it's really up to the parents how it goes, whether it's at home, sitting in a pool, hanging upside down from the ceiling, or at the hospital."

"Hanging... what?" He was starting to get wise to her sneaky attempts to tease him.

"Sickbay is fine," she said, reaching over to hold his hand. 

"That's a relief."

"I'm sure all the members of my family will fit in main sickbay," she went on. "There are fewer of us than we used to have. And hopefully Mother won't require you to adhere to the dress code."

He had started to smile, but that led to his petrification; he blinked, stared at her in horror, and she couldn't help smiling and giving it away. 

"Silly fish," she chided. "This is our baby. I don't want anyone there but you."

"And the doctor," he added, clearly nervous. 

"Yes, of course. I love you, Jean. And I know that as stressful as it will be, I want nothing more than what I have with you."

With that reassurance he was back to normal, giving her the subtle smile he usually had when in uniform and on duty. He gave the classic Picard nod acknowledging her statement. Leaning, he put his cup on the tray. "How did it go with the admiral? She asked me to have you walk her down to the transporter."

That erased Deanna's smile. "She wanted to be sure I knew that I could contact her directly in the event that I detect any misbehavior that might indicate  they  are influencing or interfering in missions."

Jean-Luc's eyes narrowed. "Did she want you to skip telling me?"

"She can't be dim enough to believe that I wouldn't tell you. She didn't say anything about you, in fact."

"Well." He gripped her fingers, still thinking about the admiral. He'd never liked Nechayev. There was a specific blend of respect, begrudging acceptance and frustration that went along with thoughts of her. "She wanted to reiterate her unique simultaneous support and wary acceptance of our relationship, of course."

Deanna almost rolled her eyes. It was a familiar impulse, and she countered it with practiced ease. "If you were to imagine being in her shoes, I'd guess you would understand her concerns?"

"Let's focus on what we need to do next, shall we?"

She responded to his usual focus on the next task with her own professional, confident smile. "Make it so."


End file.
